


All That Jazz

by Waanderlust



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Fluff, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Musicians, Pianists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 00:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1708898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waanderlust/pseuds/Waanderlust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jazz pianist Merlin is being driven up the wall when he has to teach Mr Know-It-All Arthur Pendragon how to play jazz piano.  So what if the prat has three degrees and is gorgeous?</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That Jazz

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Tavern Tales May theme, and thanks to Merlin Writers' Write Every Day in May thing (which was how this thing got written). Much love to Wasp and Candy for their beta help. It's longer than I could have imagined and not a jazzy as i'd hoped, but I adore the idea of jazz pianist Merlin. Sorry to readers who actually know something about jazz (because I really don't know much). Characters don't belong to me etc etc.

"I'm telling you, Mervin, I have three degrees and a half-dozen other certificates; jazz piano can't be that hard to learn." This utter rubbish was delivered in a posh accent as if it was true fact.

"It's Merlin. So now you're either disrespecting the century-old history and magic of jazz music, or, you're saying I'm crap at teaching?" Merlin would have glared at Arthur if he wasn't busy rubbing his eyes till he saw stars. Maybe it was better, that way he wouldn't have to fight down the urge to shout at Arthur. Or fling a pile of scores dramatically into the prat's face.

But because Merlin was the passive-aggressive type (so he thought), he instead gripped the edge of the piano seat, gritted his teeth, and said, "Look, are we doing this or not? Gwen will kill me if I refuse, but if you decline, then, well…"

"Morgana will kill me if I don't go through with this," Arthur said. He propped his elbow up against the piano. "So, how does this work again?"

How the bloody fuck should Merlin know? There was a reason he was a proper performing musician and not a music teacher. In fact there were several reasons, and now he could add ‘so that I don't have to deal with entitled blond pricks out for a lark and wasting my precious time.’ Make that precious unpaid time; sucker for friendship that he was, Merlin could never say no to Gwen.

Arthur Pendragon, scion of the Pendragon dynasty, most eligible bachelor of the year according to random women's magazines, and general golden boy of business at the moment, folded his arms and look expectantly at Merlin. Merlin imagined he used the same look when he was staring down opponents at football or in business. Arthur would soon learn broad shoulders and a killer smile weren't much use when it came to the world of music (well, not real music anyway).

"How about," Merlin took a deep breath, "we meet once a week. You can come by the club, about this time when we're usually setting up for the evening. The lesson should take half an hour or so. We can see after a month if you still want to do this."

"Oh, don't worry, Mer-lin," Arthur said, shoulders held high and jaw jutting forward. "I always finish what I set out to do."

"Yeah, yeah. There is no try, whatever," Merlin looked at his watch, placed his hands on the piano keys and hoped Arthur would get the hint.

Fat hope of that. Arthur leaned in to look over his shoulder at his scores. Merlin wanted to shrink from the contact but was distracted by a whiff of a pleasant musky scent.

"So, at this time, we're getting ready for the night, and I have, you know, things to do?" Merlin said. He was less biting that he’d intended, that scent was very alluring.

Merlin didn't wait for a reply and went straight into the normally soothing (if boring) _Autumn Leaves_ ; the song he could play with one hand and his eyes closed, or, in this case, when highly annoyed and with an arsehole he had to be civil to invading his personal space.

"Can't I sit here and watch you? I can look while you play," Arthur seemed nothing if not insistent. Merlin was getting an idea of how he had become so formidable in business, his mixture of charm and persistence was lethal.

"No, it's not that simple," Merlin said. "You wouldn't have a clue, you won't know what to look for."

"I already said, I have three degrees and…"

"I heard you, good god! Are you always like this?" Merlin tripped on the song’s rhythm for a moment and cursed his distracted mind. He flung his hands in the air in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, fine. Stay if you insist. Sit there," he pointed to the bar stool behind him. When Arthur opened his mouth, Merlin put his palm up and said, "No, I don't care, it's not too far, you can see my fingers, you won't disturb me."

Arthur's expression was stormy. He looked like an odd combination of Merlin's neighbour's three-year-old son (just before said three-year-old burst into tears) and Merlin's old school principal (when the old grouch pronounced judgement in a thundering voice on Will and him for smoking on school premises). Arthur's voice was like steel when he said, "Who do you think you are? Ordering me like that? "

Merlin buried his head in his hands. Almost seven pm. The rest of the band  would be here soon, and the set list was not going to magically materialize.

"I'm someone who is doing my job. I know it might be peanuts to you, but it's important to me, so can you please fucking stop harassing me and sit there?" Merlin had aimed to say this with calm assurance but it came out in an explosive blast. Oops.

Arthur's eyes opened impossibly wide and his mouth fell open. Who knew what he might have said; Merlin certainly didn't because – thank god for small mercies – Leon rattled up at that moment, double base in tow. "Alright, there, boss?"

"Just set up. Get me a drink when you get yours, thanks, big guy," Merlin said.

Arthur had retreated at Leon's arrival; Merlin supposed it was to his assigned seat, but he didn't know and didn't care at this point. He kicked into work mode as Will and Lance arrived, followed by Gwen nursing honey water and muttering of a cold.

The clock was ticking and there were two sets to prep. Merlin would worry about Arthur later. It was show time!

===

Merlin loved to play. He loved it even more when he was getting paid actual money for it and he was doing it with his favourite musicians. Something about being on stage made his blood race, and making music together was magical when everything went just right and the call and responses were buzzing along. It was the closest thing to nirvana, better than being high and as blissful as sex.

It didn't even matter if they were playing _Fly Me to the Moon_ to a bunch of deaf old biddies for the nth time, or that the club was half empty. Just to play and sway along with the music, to nod to Leon to pick up the solo or to trade fours with Lance on the alto sax, was worth getting out of the house in shit weather for.

When the house lights went down and the audience faded to black, there were just the five of them in a circle of light, spinning a spell that would hopefully captivate and soothe. Will tapped out a beat, Leon locked into him, and the rest picked up one at a time, allowing the music to wind around them. Gwen was the last to come in, her sultry voice soaring above the instruments; it added a human element and gave extra soulfulness to the songs.

Tonight, they played a set of jazz standards. _Lullaby of Birdland_ , _How High the Moon_ , _Body and Soul_ , _Take the A Train_ , and, finally, _Dream A Little Dream of Me_.

Merlin's fingers raced across the keys. He comped and kept the rhythm tight with the drums, listening carefully to the dull double bass wind up and down the scale. _Dream A Little Dream_ was a simple song, and they played it with a pensive air, letting the mood linger in the empty spaces in between the notes. It had taken Merlin a long time to learn not to overplay and to allow room for everyone to manoeuvre.

Lance's saxophone solo in the middle made Merlin's heart twist with wistfulness, and he mouthed the lyrics along with the melody line. The words got to him, every time.

"Say nighty-night and kiss me,

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me,

While I'm alone and blue as can be,

Dream a little dream of me"

Gwen came back into the limelight when the instrumental solos tapered off, singing her heart out and imbuing the words with her own magic.

Merlin closed his eyes, sensing the chords and tones take shape; the music was almost visible in his mind, like wisps of golden threads spiraling around them, a sparkling dust that glittered when there was a particularly lovely chord or a brilliant fill-in.

"… Dream a little dream… of… me," Gwen resolved the last note and trailed away. Merlin trilled a few discordant notes right at the end of the bar.

He blinked as he opened his eyes and refocused on his surroundings.

There was a beat of silence then the spell was broken. Merlin awkwardly inclined his head at the few half-hearted claps before they set about shuffling off the stage. He never did know how to act at the end of a set  – that awful lull waiting for people to clap. Was he supposed to acknowledge them? Or was he meant to to pretend he wasn’t expecting it, because it wasn’t cool to want affirmation?

Oh, he almost forgot. Merlin grabbed the mic and said, "We're taking a short break now, back in an hour, so, hope you stay with us."

At their usual table in the corner, Merlin nudged Will. "Where is it? You were doing the second set," Merlin said.

"Er, yes, about that," Will got out a scrap of paper. Blank paper.

"Will!" Merlin didn't think there was invisible ink on that paper.

"So, what shall we play next?" Will asked, producing a stub of a pencil.

"You said you'd take care of it!"

"And I am, we're doing it now," Will looked at Lance.

Lance shrugged, "Erm… I don't know. What about something Latin?"

"Ok, like what?" Will said.

"Hmm… not sure. Anything you want to play?" Lance took a drink. Next to him, Leon lifted his shoulder.

"Ok, do you know _Wave_?" Will said.

"Yes, well, no. Sort of. What key is it in?" Lance asked.

"It's in D." Will made to write the song down.

"Oh wait, hang on, I can't remember the bridge. Have you got a chart?" Leon said.

Will shook his head. "Not with me. Do you want to do something else?"

"Ok, like what?" Lance said.

"Hmm... Not sure. Anything you want to play?" Will turned to ask Gwen.

" _Girl from Ipanema_?" She said. "I mean, if it's ok with everyone?" She looked around.

Merlin had buried his head in his hands and was making strangled sounds. Nobody ever wanted to make decisions on set lists. "Will," he said, voice muffled from his head still cradled in his hands." Why, why, why didn't you do the set earlier and just give it to us?"

"No harm done," Will said. "Anyway, no one ever does these lists ahead of time. At least we're not having this discussion on stage?" Will probably thought it was cool to wing it.

"See, I told you they just make it up as they go along." Of all people, Arthur Pendragon appeared at their table, flanked by Morgana and another guy with swishy hair.

"Hey, it's the lady boss," Will saluted to Morgana, who ignored him in favour of hugging Gwen and making excited greeting noises.

Merlin straightened up and bristled at Arthur's tone. "We do not make it up as we go along," he glared. "There is a creative process to this, something non-jazz musicians won't understand."

"Really? I was watching your group. No real scores, no proper rehearsals, a half-hearted sound-check," Arthur said. "It's one step up from busking on the street corner."

Morgana stepped forward. "I see you've had the pleasure of meeting Arthur," she addressed Merlin. "He's trying to get to know jazz a little better. This is Gwaine, our other friend who's always a permanent fixture at bars and clubs; one hand around a drink and the other around a lady. Or two ."

"Don’t listen to her, I’m all about the music. Although Latin is more my scene," Gwaine grinned at Merlin and flipped his hair. Merlin smiled despite himself. The man had an easy charm.

"We were just talking about Latin," Will said. "You don't play by any chance, do you?"

"Well, I’ve been known to play a note or two…" Gwaine then got sucked into a discussion with Lance and Will on best Latin jazz tunes and how the bossa nova beat had been corrupted by commercialisation, accompanied by knocking on the table and clapping of hands to illustrate.

"Have you just come over to insult us?" Merlin said in a low voice to Arthur.

Arthur looked surprised. "What? No. Like Morgana said, I'm feeling my way around the jazz scene. Since she owns this place, it seemed a good place to start."

"So that's how you act when you're not trying to insult people?” Merlin shook his head. "I'm guessing you don't work in PR?"

"God, no, all that brown-nosing and making stories out of nothing," Arthur made a face.

"Damn, you have a natural talent for this insulting business thing," Merlin rolled his eyes. Arthur had no way of knowing that Merlin did freelance writing and copy-editing for PR companies, but he was feeling far from forgiving right now.

"Arthur works for the family business," Morgana said. She gave Arthur a look Merlin couldn't quite make out. It could have been ‘don't make me look bad in my own club’ or ‘move away now before you ruin your first impression any further’.

"We should let you get on," Morgana nodded at Will and the still blank piece of paper. "Arthur can catch up with Merlin another time."

"He can?" Merlin said it before he remembered he'd agreed to teach. "Oh yes, well. Yup." He avoided Gwen's gaze.

"Don't sound so put upon, Merlin," Arthur lifted a brow. "We'll be done in no time." If Arthur said ‘three degrees’ again, Merlin would call it off now, Gwen or no Gwen.

"Stop harassing my musicians, Arthur," Morgana said, and led Arthur away.

Arthur gave Merlin the once-over before he let Morgana tug him into the crowd. Merlin felt himself growing hot and flustered. He didn't know why Arthur was picking him out for special misery, was it Heckle Merlin Day? Arthur had smiled hello to the rest of the band and refrained from any offensive chatter with them.

Merlin scowled. Never mind, he'd deal with one problem at a time. For now- what the hell were they playing in thirty minutes' time?

"Will!" Merlin called out. "First song, _Girl from Ipanema_ , like Gwen said. Can we make sure the vocals actually go through the PA so she doesn't sound like she's singing from the cupboard underneath the stairs?"

Gwen nodded adding a heart-felt, "Yes yes yes please".

It really wasn't that this lot were inherently lazy. It was more that no one wanted to seem arrogant by assuming they were the leader of what still felt like a scratch gig. For his own sanity and that of the audience, Merlin had started taking on the role of the leader and nagging for a teeny bit of advanced planning, or god forbid, perhaps even a rehearsal? There was a small part of him that agreed it was uncool to try too hard and prepare too much. Not that he would let the band use that as a reason for doing virtually no prep, nor would he ever admit it to idiots like Arthur Pendragon.

When completed, the set list still looked like a secret code ("GIRL-MUCHO-LOVE?") but at least it was done.

By this time, the club was filling up and Merlin had to fight his way to the loo. There was a fair mix of working crowd and some students, most of whom were there for Happy Hour not the music.

Merlin slipped upstairs to the office toilet to avoid the grubby ones used by patrons.

"You should keep the band on, at least till the end of the month." Merlin started at the male voice coming from Morgana's office. The door was slightly ajar.

"End of the month? I'm not sure, Wart." That was Morgana. But who was Wart? Was it Arthur?

"They're not half bad. Give them – give things – a chance, Morg," Arthur's tone was familiar and casual. Perhaps he knew Morgana much better than Merlin had imagined?

It also occurred to Merlin that they were talking about him and he shouldn't be lurking outside their door. That thought, muddied with speculations of what Arthur had been talking about, apparently overloaded Merlin's brain and made him incapable of looking where he was going, because he then walked right into a tall fit guy at the end of the corridor. They crashed together forcefully. .

"Hey! Watch where you're going!" The guy pushed his long locks away from his face and raised his voice.

Merlin opened his mouth to apologise, then recognized Cenred. Shite and buggering fuck! The music world was too bloody small, he should have known he'd run into him here.

"Merlin," Cenred said, drawing the name out. He leaned against the wall, blocking Merlin's way into the main club area. The din of people drinking could be heard just beyond. "Still as clumsy as ever, I see?" Cenred's words echoed in the quiet corridor.

"Cenred," Merlin really didn't want to get into a conversation now. "I was… preoccupied." He didn't like how uncertain he sounded, so he cleared his throat and said more firmly, "In fact, our set is coming up, so I need to go."

Cenred didn't move. He and Merlin were of the same height, but Cenred had always been bulkier and stronger. Merlin noted he was still toned and sultry in his tight leather pants – but he was also still a dickhead. He proved this with his next words.

"Your set? You call that jazz?" Cenred's lip curled into a sneer. "Merlin, you're so selling out. You can do so much better than that motley rag-tag crew you’ve got."

Merlin flushed. It was an occupational hazard of musicians that when you played, not only did the ghosts of dead legends look down through the ages disapprovingly at you, but, worse still, jazz musicians in your audience who played your instrument also judged you.

"You should have stayed with me, Merlin, we would have been so good," Cenred said, pushing himself closer. Merlin took an involuntary step back.

"I… We… I really need to go," Merlin said. "They'll be looking for me." Mentally, he measured the distance between Cenred and the wall, and tensed.

"What's this? Merlin, right?" Arthur Pendragon's voice was heard before he was seen. Arthur stepped next to Merlin, all broad shoulders and strong forearms, and looked between Merlin and Cenred.

Merlin groaned mentally. Oh great, he was sandwiched between two wankers now. Was it Friday the 13th or something? What had he done to deserve this? "Arthur," Merlin said flatly. ‘What now?’ he thought.  

Arthur's eyes narrowed as he sized up Cenred. He didn't seem to like what he saw, because his face changed, smoothing into a mask of… Merlin wasn't sure what it was. He would have said professionalism, but Arthur also exuded authority and strength; he acted like he owned the place. Merlin was a little amazed, if not puzzled, by Arthur's arrogance. He wondered if everyone born into old money had this quality of – was it entitlement?

"Is there a problem?" Arthur asked. His question seemed to be directed at Cenred, but before anyone could reply, Arthur tapped his watch and addressed Merlin, "You're late, time to get on stage."

"That's what I was saying," Merlin huffed. "So I'm going. Now. Ex-cuse me!" He was annoyed with Arthur, annoyed with Cenred and really just wanted out of this very strange and uncomfortable situation. Arthur had the nerve to nod, as if dismissing a servant. Pompous twat!

Cenred was shooting daggers at Arthur, but his aggression was tempered with uncertainty over who the interloper might be. At least, Merlin assumed the two of them didn't know each other – he certainly wasn't going to stick around to make the introductions.

Merlin took advantage of Cenred's lapse of attention and pushed past him to run towards the stage. He had the impression of Arthur and Cenred glowering at each other like two lions fighting over a gazelle.

Merlin plonked himself at the piano – his heart was racing. What was all that about? He waved away a puzzled Leon with a shake of his head and focused on thinking calm, chilled-out thoughts. Merlin needed to get into the bossa nova groove like, right now. He locked into what the rest of the rhythm section was doing and imagined they were all at some bar along the sandy beaches of a Spanish-speaking country.

What a night this was.

===

 

The next time Merlin met Arthur, things didn’t go very smoothly either.

“Why do you play so many notes in jazz?" Arthur asked.

"Wha-what?" Merlin wasn't sure what to say.

Arthur sat on an Ikea stepstool, pulled up alongside Merlin at the piano. Since he’d turned up early tonight, the club was still in setting-up mode and all the lights were on. This, plus the fact that Arthur looked very different in his V-necked white tee and jeans, made it hard to connect this Arthur to the one Merlin had met that week. Arthur hadn’t made any reference so far to what had happened last week, which added to the surreal quality of what Merlin had termed _The Corridor Incident._

"I said… why don't you just play the notes when you're supposed to, instead of fannying and fapping around with the melody?” Arthur said. His voice grew louder, “Hey, are you ignoring me?"

"No," Merlin said in a muffled tone. He had covered his face with his hands and now spread his fingers to look at Arthur. "I'm despairing at how ignorant your questions are."

"Didn't someone say there are no stupid questions?”

"Well, it certainly wasn't me!" Merlin counted to three and put his hands down. "Look. Tell me again – why are you doing this?"

"I told you, I want to know more about jazz." Arthur said slowly, as if Merlin was touched in the head. "Haven't I said that about three times? Should I sing it to get it through your thick skull?"

"Yes, but why? Why do you want to know more about jazz? Do you want to play it for yourself? Are you bored and want a new hobby? Or you're trying to impress a girl? It's not some quarter-life crisis, is it?"

"What does it matter?" Arthur looked belligerent and a little defensive.

"Of course it matters, then I’ll know how to teach you better! There's heaps of things! So many things about jazz, so many ways to teach… Oops!" Merlin had flung his arms out to demonstrate the magnitude of the "heaps" and dislodged the stack of papers on the piano.

"If you're done being the epitome of grace, Merlin," Arthur said, smoothly catching the papers without even shifting his backside from his stool. Merlin had shot up and lunged forward to snatch them, so they ended up caught in an odd cross-grab, from which Merlin backed away like he’d been shot and plopped back down again. Bumping into Arthur was like hitting a solid wall of muscle.

Arthur looked at Merlin like he’d just done a handstand on the piano bench and Merlin felt very foolish.  

"Are these notes for me? Let's just say I want to play a little for my own enjoyment, and learn to appreciate what makes good jazz.” Arthur passed Merlin a neatly handwritten list. “Here, I made some notes of my own," he said.

Merlin spluttered as he read Arthur’s questions. “Why are sets all so long? What’s with the odd timings and rhythms?  What does jazz take itself so seriously?” He looked up at Arthur, “You’re calling us pretentious?”

Arthur shrugged, “Any proper jazz lover seems to need to do the whole head bobbing, facial contorting and moaning thing, no? Like ‘Oh, look, we can play stuff with a dotted rhythm.’”

Merlin thought “uncultured git”, but said, “Dotted rhythm? Er, you know some music?” His mouth fell open as Arthur whipped out a music score (a proper one from the publisher, not a photocopy or something printed off the internet), shoved him aside to sit at the piano and played the first page of _Beethoven’s Fifth_ perfectly with exemplary straight-backed posture and strong wrists. Merlin knew the title because it was on the score, but anybody would recognize the distinctive opening chords.

Arthur played in a focussed and serious way, flipping his blond fringe absent-mindedly and turning the page with practiced ease. He swayed with the music and emoted all the stronger emotions Merlin supposed were appropriate. When the music sped up after the first page, his eyes narrowed and Merlin had the impression of Arthur’s vigour as he chased down the notes, fingers expertly flying over the keys for the _presto_ parts. Arthur reined it in at the _ritard_ portions and picked it up again with gusto, his thumb ring glinting under the lights.

Arthur was… good. Really good. Technically skilled, and Merlin had enough musicality to know that the piece was being played with passion and feeling. Arthur was playing at full volume at some points, filling the empty club with music. Staff were looking their way, and the few customers that were in the club startled at the unexpected musical interlude. It was all a little strange, but Merlin couldn’t help being affected by the power of the music.

Merlin was squashed together with Arthur, sitting side by side on the piano bench. He was suddenly aware of Arthur’s body heat and spicy cologne and glanced furtively at Arthur. Up close (very, very close), Arthur was all blue eyes, chiseled jawline and aquiline nose. The proximity of Arthur, and the sight of Arthur’s veined hands coaxing such different but beautiful music from the instrument, was mesmerizing.  

Arthur’s fingers were strong but controlled, coaxing sounds from the keys with dexterity.  Merlin found he was holding his breath like a besotted schoolboy. All Arthur had to do now was execute a cross-hands move and Merlin might not be able to stop himself from springing up and clapping enthusiastically. Hell, he half-expected the whole club of people to be on their feet cheering Arthur as if they were in some classical-themed episode of Glee.   

Merlin had no idea how Arthur made piano-playing look athletic. In motion, Arthur’s hands channelled his body’s energy, echoing and concentrating his verve and vitality towards contraction and release. It was the sexiest thing Merlin had ever seen.

When Arthur finally stopped and turned at him, eyes bright with happy triumph, Merlin said, “Oh…”

“Yes, I know some music, Merlin. Grade 8, actually. Piano lessons since I was 5. I was too small to even reach the keys.” Arthur slid back with a flourish. Only he could manage to radiate smug nonchalance balanced on a step stool. Merlin blinked. He was light-headed and out of sorts. It must be from the shock of seeing Arthur play so competently.

“You’re just showing off.” Merlin said. The notes were still ringing in his head, and he refused to give Arthur the satisfaction of gushing about how amazing the playing was.

“You asked if I knew music, I was just demonstrating that I do.”

Merlin propped his head up on the piano keys with his thumb and index finger. He found Arthur impossible to read, so he went for the direct approach. “If you’re just doing this to take the piss, you can stop right now,” Merlin said.

Arthur gave a brief, surprised look; it was the same one Merlin had seen last week during their very first meeting. “I’m not. Believe me, if I _was_ winding you up, you’d know for certain.”

“But I really don’t. Even your so-called comments come out sounding like insults; how does anybody know what you really mean?” Merlin rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’ll take you at face value, but then you have to do the same. I can’t explain jazz to you if you keep questioning and challenging me every step of the way.”

He put his palm up when Arthur made as if to respond. “You can question me when I ask for questions, is that a deal?” Merlin thought he should at least get further than one sentence without having to defend himself (or to defend jazz).

Arthur nodded slowly. He seemed to be thinking about something and his gaze never left Merlin. Merlin wondered if he had (yet again) a random pen mark on his face and patted his lips and cheeks. “What? Is there something on my face?” Merlin asked.

Arthur shook his head, but he kept staring at Merlin’s mouth. _Yup, impossible to read._

Since Arthur obviously had classical piano experience, Merlin thought he’d start from there. “Like other music, jazz makes an artistic statement, communicates some kind of emotional or spiritual feeling. But it does this using improvised music, what we call grooves and a different range of notes.”

So far, so good. Arthur hadn’t protested yet. He was still looking at Merlin’s face as if there was some text written there. Whatever.

Merlin continued, “All the stuff you hear about, like the twelve-bar blues, and the modes and the scales, the AABA form or rhythm changes are, umm, tools or means to achieve those ends.” He went on briefly about how varied ideas of good jazz were, and some main schools of thought. Arthur continued to fix his eyes on him, blinking now and then, but not taking any notes or moving from his seat.

“Merlin, hey,” Lancelot popped up onto the stage and patted Merlin on the shoulder.

“Oh, hey. You’re in already?” Merlin frowned. Time was getting on. “Umm, anything you want to ask or say? No? No debates or contrary arguments?” he addressed Arthur.

“You make it sound like I’m shit-stirring,” Arthur said. “I don’t say things to hear my own voice, honestly.”

“If you say so. Hi Gwen!” Merlin turned and waved to Gwen as she knelt on the floor, adjusting the mic-stand height. She straightened and ruffled his hair as she swished past.

Will followed in Gwen’s wake. He greeted Merlin with a mock head-lock (“MER-lin!”), acting as if Arthur wasn’t there.

“Will! Get off, I’m busy here!” Merlin patted his hair back down, slightly embarrassed with this informality in front of Arthur. Arthur didn’t seem to mind, though. He had a bemused expression as he watched Merlin brush himself off and tuck his shirt back in.

Arthur cocked his head and pointed to Merlin’s neck. “Your collar is up,” he said.

“Oops,” Merlin twisted around, but Arthur beat him to it. “There,” Arthur said.

Merlin felt a quick pull to the back of his shirt. Arthur had tugged his collar straight and smoothed it out. He shivered slightly when Arthur’s hand brushed the back of his nape once, twice, then moved away.

“You’re wearing a proper shirt today,” Arthur said.

Merlin was bewildered by the change in topic. “Yes I am? I mean, yes,” Merlin said.

“You weren’t last week,” Arthur said.

“I guess? I can’t remember, to be honest,” Merlin didn’t say that the prospect of running into Cenred again at the club made him smarten up a little. “Is it an odd colour?” He looked down at the purple shirt he’d picked, then remembered it was Arthur he was with; they were meant to be talking about chords, intervals and extensions, not the bloody colour wheel.

The club lights dimmed, eliminating any possible conversation about shirt colours, and signaling that the office crowd would be in soon.

Merlin flicked to the pages he’d prepared for Arthur – yes, he’d actually done some work for this. “Now for the practical. Can you practice the major, minor, diminished and diatonic scales in all the keys, and we'll build on that next week?” For the first time, Arthur looked uncertain as he took the print outs.

“Questions?” Merlin asked. Arthur folded the sheets and put them away. “All done then,” Merlin said.  Apparently not, because Arthur wasn’t moving.

Merlin hoped Arthur wouldn’t ask to watch him play again, the idea suddenly made him self-conscious. Exactly why this was so (when Merlin was supposed to be a professional musician and used to performing for large groups of strangers) was a little puzzling.

Arthur cleared this throat. “I don’t see that friend of yours around tonight,” he said.

“Which one?”

“The greasy-haired chap from last week, who was making a nuisance of himself.”

“Oh, Cenred. He’s harmless, I can handle him,” Merlin didn’t add he had sort of, almost, possibly had a brief thing with Cenred before and had also played with Cenred’s band. All that happened  when he was young and naive, and flattered by anybody who said he played well.

Arthur raised an eyebrow and jerked his head sharply. “It didn’t look that way last week. You’re welcome, by the way.” His tone was stilted, and he was doing that thing again, where he wouldn’t stop staring at Merlin. It was making Merlin feel fluttery.

“I could have handled it,” Merlin said. “It wasn’t like you needed to save me or anything.” He wasn’t a girl or a child. Arthur might be built like an extra from _300_ , but Merlin was sure he could take care of himself.  

Arthur’s face was tight and he looked like he’d just eaten a lemon. “It didn’t look like that to me,” he said again stiffly. “That guy was being a dickhead .”

Arthur’s nostrils flared and Merlin might have been just a little touched at the show of concern, but he didn’t want to dwell on it any longer. He hoped Cenred wouldn’t turn up tonight and force him to manage Arthur and Cenred together again in a lion-taming show of diplomacy.

Merlin resisted the irrational urge to pat Arthur on the shoulder and tell him it really was ok, but instead hesitantly put his hand on Arthur’s arm. Arthur looked surprised, but broke into a smile. His bad mood had dissipated a little. Well, that was good. Merlin didn’t want Arthur to feel upset.

Merlin repeated, “ All done then,” in an attempt to placate, and then to dismiss Arthur, but Arthur was either very bad at picking up social cues or very good at ignoring them. He shuffled a little, put his hands in his pockets and asked, “Are you hanging around after your second set tonight?”

“Erm, maybe, possibly yeah. Why?”  

“No reason.” With that, Arthur finally upped and left, making Merlin feel like he was the one who’d been dismissed after all.

Arthur reappeared when the second set was over, descending on Merlin’s table as if gracing them with his presence. Merlin was always more relaxed once the performances were done for the night, and he was cheery and slouched over his pint when Arthur jostled his elbow.

“Oi! Watch it! Oh it’s you,” Merlin said. He mopped up his dripping beer with a tiny and fairly useless paper napkin, his good mood curtailed. The chatter at the table cooled down as everyone pretended not to look at Arthur slipping into the space between Merlin and Leon.

“Get you a drink?” Arthur asked Merlin.

“For the one you spilled? So you should, yeah, thanks,” Merlin said.

Arthur gave him a puzzled look. “No, I didn’t spill that much. I’m just – look, I’m just getting you a drink, okay?”

“If it’s your way of saying thanks, you’re doing it very oddly,” Merlin said. “But yes, I’ll take that drink.” Arthur nodded headed for the bar.

Then it was Will’s turn to jostle Merlin.

“Hey! What is it with everyone tonight?” Merlin snatched his drink away and glared.

“What’s he doing here?” Will said.

“I have no idea, why don’t you ask him?”

“You two have been tip-toeing around each other, it’s adorable,” Gwen leaned in and beamed at Merlin.

“Tip-toeing? You make me sound like the Pink Panther,” Merlin said, and Will hooted and started singing the tune, hamming it up with actions.

“No, silly,” Gwen said. ”He keeps circling around you. He’s got his eye on you. Like, right now."

“No he doesn’t,” Merlin said, and swivelled around to check. Yes he did. Arthur was leaning against the bar waiting for the drinks, but he was looking in their direction.

When Merlin met his gaze, Arthur didn’t flinch, and Merlin determinedly refused to look away. Arthur was standing below a spotlight, and it caught his hair like a golden halo. He swallowed. Arthur was really very good looking. Objectively speaking. If one liked that sort.

“You see?” Gwen said. Merlin grunted.

Except that, of course, Gwen was right.

Once she’d said it Merlin noticed Arthur _was_ lurking around him. He hung by Merlin’s side and his initial awkwardness with the rest of the group faded when Morgana  joined them as well. That’s when Merlin realised Arthur and Morgana were related.

“You’re brother and sister?” Merlin said, looking from Arthur to Morgana and back again. “But… you don’t look alike at all!”

“Half-siblings, Merlin,” Arthur said.

“Only half, I know you wouldn’t think it when you compare my greatness to this,” Morgana gestured at Arthur. Arthur grinned and called her a harpy.

Arthur and Morgana took turns buying rounds for the band. Arthur chatted a little to Leon (about football) and Lancelot (about the state of British politics) and looked tolerantly on Will’s jokes and antics, but didn’t leave Merlin’s side. More significantly, he didn’t insult Merlin; that set Merlin on edge and left him slightly nervous about how to act around Arthur without the shield of a piano and scores.

Gwen and Morgana giggled and whispered in a corner, bursting out into laughter now and then.

“I didn’t realise they were so close,” Arthur said to Merlin, gesturing at the two girls holding hands.

“They’re as thick as teeth, I mean as thieves,” Merlin said. The  beer he’d downed earlier brought him to a comfortably buzzed state, and he was unusually candid. “Don’t you know that’s why I’m seeing you? I mean, teaching you? Morgana asked Gwen and Gwen asked me. It was a favour. A big one."

“You sound like it’s a great hardship, Merlin,” Arthur said with a pout. ”It’s not that much of a chore is it? I’m told I'm quite handsome and charming, you know.” Merlin couldn't tell if Arthur was being serious, although his smile did appear strained.

“You are quite attractive,” Merlin said, trying hard to articulate. His words seemed to want to run into one another.  “But you’re charming to other people. Me, you just wheedle… I mean, needle… I mean, insult.”

Arthur’s face zoomed in and out of Merlin’s focus. He seemed to be concerned about something, and said, “I don’t mean to. It’s just you, Merlin. Oh – here! Drink some water!”

 _Oh great. Hiccups._ Merlin hicced and dutifully swallowed.

Arthur tilted towards Merlin. Or was Merlin tilting towards Arthur? Things went woozy, then Arthur’s t-shirt was in Merlin’s face, and Merlin heard Arthur’s voice as if through a distant tunnel.

“Merlin? Merlin…” Arthur rumbled. _There’s stubble – wait, it can’t be my stubble, it’s someone else’s._ Then strong arms gripped Merlin and hefted him up.  

“… think he needs some air… no I’ve got him… just outside…” Merlin caught more Arthur-like murmurs and some Gwen sounds. He had the sensation of being half carried, half embraced, then a shock of cold air and the sound of silence hit him.

Merlin was manhandled and propped up against a wall. His legs weren’t working so well, so he tried to sit down.

“Stop it, no don’t sit, it’s disgusting out here,” Arthur’s voice was clear in the still air, and Merlin turned towards it. He couldn’t see anything – maybe he should try to open his eyes. When he did, there were big blue eyes right next to his face. Merlin was pressed up against Arthur’s chest and Arthur’s arms were around his waist, gripping him tightly.

“You idiot of a lightweight,” Arthur said. "It was only a few beers." In a bid to hold Merlin up, they’d ended up in a full-fledged hug.

Arthur smelt of that spicy cologne Merlin had caught a whiff of before, mixed now with sweat and smoke. Merlin nosed at him, trying to find a comfortable place to rest his chin. He settled for sticking it on Arthur’s shoulder, facing into the curve of Arthur’s neck. In fact, he was all but kissing Arthur’s neck. _Hmm… that was an idea…_

Merlin blew a stream of air from his mouth experimentally. “Merlin!” Arthur said.

Pleased with the response, Merlin blew again, enjoying it when his breath bounced off Arthur and back at himself. Nice and warm air that way.

Merlin decided to push closer till his mouth was on that very attractive skin, his lips barely touching; he could feel Arthur's hard exhale when his chest heaved and, with it, Merlin's shoulder that was resting on it.

Merlin wondered what that skin would properly feel like; he could find out, couldn’t he? He managed to move his head a little more and rubbed his lips gently against the nearest patch. It was smooth – rub – and thin – rub, rub – and a little dry. Merlin closed his eyes to concentrate on the feel. He was enjoying this.

Arthur drew a long breath. “Merlin,” Arthur said, his voice shaky.

Merlin wasn’t listening, he was occupied with mouthing at Arthur’s neck, stopping only to lick his lips when they got dry. He felt warm and fuzzy, as if he was wrapped in a big fluffy blanket. His lips tingled and his hair was in his eyes and tickling him, but he didn’t care. If he had more energy (and limbs that he could feel) he would have grabbed hold of Arthur for support, pushed himself up and launched into proper kisses.

As it was, Merlin was happy to nibble and mouth at Arthur, and would have continued doing so,  if his stomach hadn’t taken over in a major way. It gurgled and seized up. Then all the good feelings flew out of the window, replaced by nausea. _Oh shit, oh shit!_

Merlin lurched and clapped his hand over his mouth hoping it wasn’t too late to stop the flood. He pushed himself away from Arthur, but his reflexes were slow and his movements jerky, and he didn’t move far enough before it all came up.

Merlin’s insides spasmed against his will. He made some terrible retching sounds, and emptied the contents of his stomach onto Arthur. _Oh no,_ I’v _e puked on Arthur._

Arthur held him by both shoulders though the worst of it as Merlin shook and shivered and gasped. When there was nothing left, Merlin felt utterly wrung out and completely terrible. The sour smell of vomit filled the air. He was barely aware of Arthur supporting him and rubbing his back soothingly; his head swam and all he wanted to do was lie down and die.

Things faded to black after that.

It was hours later, after much more stumbling and some very disturbed sleep featuring dreams of dancing pianos and jugs of beer prancing to the tune of Beethoven's Fifth, that Merlin woke in his own bed, dressed in his sleeping clothes.

There was a glass of water by his bed, and a sheet of paper with Arthur's tidy writing on it. "Text when you come back to life". That was followed by a number, and below that, in Will's scrawl "Again? You owe me one, mate."

===

 

Merlin didn't know where to hide his face when Arthur came up to him at the club the next evening.

Merlin had been mortified in the morning. "Why did you let me make a fool of myself?" He had yelled down the phone at Will.

"You're the one who got drunk and vommed over Pendragon! All I did was give him your address and help him get you home. You're welcome, by the way."

“But, why, why did you let him take me outside?” Merlin said. “You know I always chuck when I get like that.”

“Mate, he insisted! You were already falling onto him, drooling over his shirt, and he said he’d might as well take you out,” Will had sounded like this was the most natural thing in the world.

Merlin had groaned and cursed himself for being such a lightweight. The whole thing was made a million times worse because he'd apparently turned vampire on Arthur (something which Merlin didn't tell Will). The bits he remembered made him hot with shame – well, they made him just plain hot. It seemed his uninhibited self was a sucker for Arthur. Figuratively and literally. Fuck his life.

It was time to face the music.

Merlin swallowed and turned, but kept his gaze averted from Arthur, who would surely be insufferable now.

"Shit, I'm so sorry about last night," Merlin said. "I don’t drink when i’m performing, so when I do, it can go to my head a little. I swear, it wasn't on purpose. I'll pay for your dry-cleaning and all." He was abashed, unsure how to say "Thanks for not leaving me in a puddle of my own puke, and for carting my sorry arse home with Will. And, oh, by the way, sorry for molesting you when I was so piss drunk.”

"I thought musicians were supposed to be able to hold their  drink, Merlin. I have to say you took me by surprise," Arthur said.

"Yeah. Not this one."

"You're not the first person to puke on me, although Morgana will deny it all."

Merlin looked up at Arthur, emboldened by his teasing tone.

"Hey," Merlin said, noticing what Arthur was wearing. "Is that…?"

"It's yours," Arthur said, going a little pink. He plucked at the V-necked sweater he was wearing. "My clothes were a mess and Will told me to help myself. I took the largest top I could find."

Merlin's sweater was very snug on Arthur, so form-fitting that it hugged the curve of his chest  and clung onto his trim torso. The thin fabric left little to the imagination. Merlin fancied he could see the outline of Arthur's nipples through them – oh god, he should stop staring, how pervy was he? Even his perfectly sober (if hungover) self was ogling Arthur now.

The pale blue of the sweater set off Arthur's eyes, and there was a trail of fine blond chest hair leading down and disappearing into the V. Arthur had a broad chest, muscular but not too sculptured, the type that came about from doing real sports and not hours in the gym. Merlin's lips twitched as the image of putting his mouth on that chest rose unbidden in his mind. _Stop it, Merlin, stop it now!_

"Ah…" Merlin said, his mouth going dry." No, no, it's my fault you needed to change. It… It looks nicer on you than it ever did on me, anyway. I don't wear it."

"You don't? I like it, it feels really good." Arthur said earnestly.

"Just keep it then. You know, for messing up your clothes and all. I even forgot I had it. Really."

"Oh. Well, don't mind if I do then." Arthur smiled brightly at Merlin, honest and genuine. He cleared his throat. “ Actually, there was another favour I was hoping from you. I have these tickets for some jazz thing, so I wondered if you wanted to come too?”

Merlin started. Hadn't Arthur insulted jazz non-stop since – well, since he had met him?

“I need to go anyway,” Arthur said hurriedly. “And I don’t know many jazz lovers. I figured you might appreciate it more.”

“Wow. I hadn’t figured you at a jazz gig. It’s not an acoustic set at some hole-in-the-wall, is it? That would really shock me,” Merlin said. He was not going to say ‘why don't you take Morgana? Is this just the two of us?’

Arthur laughed; it was a nice sound, easy and genuine. “No, Merlin, I'm only taking baby steps. It’s _Jazz Voice,_ the London Jazz Festival Opening Night Gala. At the Barbican.”

“Oh double wow,” Merlin had heard of this on the radio. “What, the actual opening do? Do I need tails? A haircut? A makeover?”  He clutched as his messy hair.

Arthur gave Merlin a slow once-over, lingering at his mouth before looking at him directly in the eye. “I think you look just fine,’ Arthur said, drawing out his words. "Your hair is… fine just the way it is."

Merlin bit his lip and flushed hotly, mired in what he recognised to be the start of a crush.

Somewhere within the embarrassment and excitement there just might be a glimmer of hope. He told himself it was stupid to feel embarrassed when he’d had his lips glued onto Arthur’s neck the night before, but remembering that moment seemed to make him feel even more jittery and awkward, so Merlin stopped thinking, said, ”Thanks” and turned on his most dazzling smile.

It seemed to work, because Arthur beamed back at him. This state of dopey mutual gazing lasted only until Arthur proudly presented the line-up and wanted to know what was so great about each of the guest performers, which in turn led Merlin an epic burst of jazz-talk.

"… known for their dissonant blues and churning grooves…” Merlin said. He was stopped by Arthur's deepening frown; he’d lost the man somewhere in between "pensive folk-jazz double-bass themes" and "delicately flicked harmonics".

“ Erm… you know what. It's fine. It'll be fine," Merlin said.

Arthur nodded and pretended he had understood all that, but Merlin thought it best not to hammer on any longer. It wouldn't do to lose the invite, and he had a feeling he wasn’t doing a good job of impressing Arthur with his jazz knowledge.

==

 

"So are you two a thing now, Merlin?" Gwen asked.

Will snorted. "A thing that he's abandoning us for tomorrow night," he said.

"It's just for one night, come on! And Gilli's covering for me," Merlin said, knowing that he'd already gone all red.

"Ah, but Gilli isn't you, we'll be glad when you're back," Lancelot said.

"I'm going to watch a gig, not moving away forever.” Merlin ducked his head.

"But who will nag us to prep a set list and insist in a proper sound check?" Leon said, grinning widely.

"So it's Mother Hen Merlin you'll be wanting," Merlin said. "You guys will be fine. Me, on the other hand…"

"It's some poshballs do, yeah?" Will said.

"Posh, but it's still jazz. I'm there for the music, not the glamour," Merlin said.

"Oooh – there for the music, are you?" Gwen laughed. "Nothing to do with the company? A certain blond-haired blue-eyed Mr Pendragon? How does it feel to be dating the boss?"

"I don't know if it's a _date_ date, I'm not even getting a ride in… Wait, who? Which boss? I'm not going with Morgana." Merlin stopped, confused.

Gwen touched her fingers to her lips, her eyes suddenly wide. "Oh. Was it meant to be— I don't think it's like a secret."

"What, Gwen? Just tell me!" Merlin dragged Gwen to a corner.

"I'm sorry, love, I really didn't know you didn't know, else I'd have said," Gwen grabbed Merlin's hands.

"Stop scaring me and just say it."

"You know how Morgana and Arthur are half-siblings? Well, Arthur's always been the one better at business, or so their father Uther Pendragon believes. Uther wasn't really keen on this club thing, " Gwen waves a hand all around them." But Morgana insisted on trying."

"Go on."

"Uther's patience has sort of run out, and he wanted to pull the plug on this…"

"What? Poor Morgana!"

"… But he's agreed to let Arthur come in and, with Morgana, have a go and turning the tide of red."

"Oh." Merlin clutched at Gwen.

"So Arthur's going to be like boss here."

"Oh." _Fuck._ "How did you know?"

"Morgana told me." Of course. "I thought Arthur would have told you too." Gwen's voice was kind.

"No. No he hasn't. I mean, I told you, we’re not even really a thing, I don't know what we are."

"Maybe he was going to tell you?"

"I have no idea," Merlin shook his head. "Anyway it's not like they're really our employers, we're just freelancers, jobbing musicians that take whatever we get. We're not even officially a band."

Gwen laughed, "We never did decide on a name, did we? But sometimes, it's not the labels and names that count. We're good playing together."

"But this is our most regular gig." Merlin deflated. He'd be sad if they didn't have this anymore. He took other jobs at wedding or in house bands, sometimes even being the solo piano player in a bar, but Morgana's club was the one place that felt like his musical home. She'd hired them a year ago, when he'd just made the decision to be a professional musician, so his own journey was tied in with the club.

"I know, Merlin. Morgana's gutted about it too. She has other businesses to run, but this one's close to her heart."

"How do you feel about it?" Merlin remembered he shouldn't just be thinking of himself. "Do the rest know?"

Gwen frowned. "I had some time to get used to the idea, but what can we do anyway? I thought about teaching singing classes, but I'd need to go back to school and get some certs first. Or I might do children's drama classes."

Merlin could totally see Gwen with with enthusiastic kids on theatre and voice stuff." You'd be great, Gwen," he said.

"I think Leon might know Arthur's moving into management here, but that’s all," Gwen said. Merlin thought that sounded so officious. He tried to think of Arthur as all boss-like and efficient; he could certainly see Arthur barking orders but he couldn’t imagine him doing it in the club, where things were all laid-back and Arthur was so… opinionated and anal.

Leon came by to signal it was almost time to go on. Gwen grabbed Merlin in a hug and whispered to him, "It'll be all right. You have a smashing good time tomorrow, let him spoil you rotten." Merlin laughed and hugged back tightly.

 

====

Merlin's uncertainty over the, _date or no date?_ question was heightened by the arrangement to meet at the Barbican Tube, one of the three Underground stations around The Barbican Centre. It wasn't exactly the ideal start of a romantic outing.

This uncertainty was not helped by Arthur’s offer of a quick drink and snacks before the gig, rather than, for example, a proper early dinner somewhere nice. Merlin had to admit anyone would be hard- pressed to find "somewhere nice" for a proper dinner around The Barbican; in his mind it was the singularly most uninspiring block of concrete around, a monstrosity whose ugliness magnified with its size.

Where was Arthur? Merlin could only ignore The Big Issue guy for so long, the Tube entrance was tiny. It was a horrible meeting place. He sighed and stomped to keep warm.

There was a tap on his elbow and Merlin spun around. "Arthur?" He said, eyes wide.

It almost didn't look like Arthur, save for that shit-eating grin Merlin would recognize a mile away. Arthur was wearing braces over formal black pants, a white long-sleeves shirt, and… was that a fedora? Merlin bit his tongue to stop from saying, "Are you going to a costume party as a Chicago mobster?"

"Mer-lin," Arthur said, all pleased with himself.

"Is this how you normally dress to go out? You look… Different," Merlin said carefully.

"What? No! I made a special effort. Not any old black tie outfit, you know." Arthur huffed. "You look different too."

"It's the suit I wear when I play at weddings," Merlin said. He swatted Arthur away when he made to tweak his bow tie. "Stop that! Why do people always do that?"

"But it's so inviting," Arthur made another quick grab at the bowtie and this time he succeeded in pulling it askew.

"Prick!" Merlin retaliated by snapping one of Arthur’s braces. The tiny flaw in his plan was that he misjudged and it twanged back with a much greater force than he'd intended.

"Ow!" Arthur clutched his chest where the elastic had bounced against cotton and flesh with a rather nasty sound. "That hurt, you fool. You're like a child!"

"You started it first!" Merlin felt bad and moved nearer to rub the area under the offending strap in what he hoped was a soothing action. "Don't be such a big baby, it's just an item of clothing." He felt Arthur stiffen. "What?"

"Hasn't anyone ever told you," Arthur said in a low voice, "That it's awfully forward to be rubbing another man's chest in public?" _Oh shit._

Merlin snapped back almost as fast as the suspender had, and blushed so hard he was certain his face was the same colour as his bow tie.

Arthur's shit-eating grin had returned, now joined with a cocky look.

"Obviously that didn’t hurt," Merlin said, tripping over his words. "Let's go." He strode off purposefully until he realised he had no idea where they were headed. He let Arthur catch up with him, bump him lightly on the shoulder, and lead them both off in a different direction.

They had a drink and nibbles at a glorified themed bar that Arthur insisted on calling a "speakeasy".

"That's the name they gave underground bars in the Prohibition, in the 1920s." Arthur said after he ordered a "white mule" and "monkey rum" from the "mixologist".

Merlin rolled his eyes. "You say that like it's news to me. Mate, the 1920s were the Jazz Age. Sound and music and small group combos."

Arthur snorted, "Also organised crime."

"Well, yes, and that too," Merlin took his strangely-named drink and wondered what to talk about next.

That seemed to be the tone of the night; they'd have a short conversation, mostly about jazz, then there would be pockets of silences. While they weren't exactly awkward or pregnant pauses, it was a far cry from the easy banter Merlin usually had with the band, the people he spent about 99 percent of his social life with these days.

Merlin was struggling with how to handle Arthur. His nerves were on edge from the excitement of going to such a big event and having Arthur right there next to him for an extended period of time. The last time he was with Arthur for more than half an hour at a stretch, he had been passed out stone cold.

Also, was Arthur just being nice to him because of the jazz lessons – if you could call two half-hour sessions lessons? Merlin wasn’t going to make an idiot of himself presuming, people who looked like Arthur must have hordes of admirers falling over themselves to proposition him.

Then there was that issue of Arthur as Merlin's new paymaster. Merlin took a deep glug of him drink and regretted it instantly. The aptly named “white mule” had a hell of a kick, but tasted awful.

Arthur was the perfect gentleman. If you ignored his ridiculous Al Capone get-up, he was still stupidly  handsome, cutting a fine figure in his expensive suit and well-fitted pants. Merlin could see all the admiring glances cast their way, and he was sure they weren’t for him. The speakeasy wasn’t that noisy, but Merlin pretended he couldn’t hear Arthur and leaned in very very close to him. (No, Merlin wasn’t being territorial at all). Actually, Merlin still couldn’t hear anything, mesmerised as he was by Arthur’s very pretty, very red lips.

Merlin’s thoughts shifted somewhat from Arthur when they made it into the concert. The air was abuzz with expectation and old people were exchanging air kisses with champagne flutes in hand at the bar area. Journalists covering the culture beat were huddled in groups talking shop, and Merlin tried not to bounce on his tones like a country bumpkin who never went out.

“Enjoying yourself?” Arthur asked.

“The champagne is nice,” Merlin said. Having Arthur hovering next to him, loose and comfortable at  his elbow, was nice too.

The concert was more than nice, parts of it were incredible. The commissioned orchestral piece wasn’t really Merlin’s thing, but the other headliner, Jamie Cullum, had Merlin tapping his fingers and feet.

Performances like this showed exactly why jazz shouldn’t be played in big formal venues. Merlin felt jazz belonged in small smoky bars and basement pubs, so that people could get up and dance and sing. Jamie’s energy was palpable, bouncing around as he was from instrument to instrument, and even…

“Shit, is he standing on the piano?” Arthur said to Merlin. He forgot to keep his voice down, but it didn’t matter because Jamie’s antics on stage were so loud.

Merlin nodded, watching as Jamie reached into the bowels of the piano and plucked its strings like a harp. He bet that Jamie’s mum had never thought people would be paying money to watch her son do this.

The best part was when Jamie dispensed with all the jumping around, sat at the piano and simply played, just him and the piano. He moved effortlessly from jazz to rock to folk and even country, pulling from the genres and melding them seamlessly into a mad-cap medley that made perfect sense and was musically fascinating. It was like watching an old-style kaleidoscope, every tilt would bring a new beat or melody; Merlin could listen and watch all day long.

When the little spitfire that was Jamie Cullum finally exited the stage, Merlin exhaled. “Wow,” he said. “That alone was worth the price of the tickets.”

Arthur looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Good, is he? I have no idea why, he plays like a child high on sugar.”

Merlin refused to get drawn into a debate with Arthur; at least until they were at the bar downing beer during the interval. That was where they had an explosive discussion on Jamie initially and then later the role of a full orchestra and specially scripted scores.

"But that's for classical music!" Arthur had said. "How is that jazz?"

Merlin sighed in his most put-upon way. "It is. Jazz isn't just small group ensembles, it's a style of music."

"If it's so loosely defined, it can be anything. Then the term ‘jazz’ becomes meaningless."

"Arthur, why do you need to define it? There are so many sub-genres, don’t pigeonhole jazz."

“It just seems sloppy to me," Arthur said. There was a trace of genuine bewilderment in his eyes.

That was what gave Merlin the patience to say, "You're over-thinking this. How about you just relax and enjoy the music? Try to feel the beat and hear what it's saying. Don't think about the form or analyse the chords – not yet."

The lines on Arthur's brow relaxed a little.

"This is supposed to be a night out, not an exam, ay?" Merlin said, and made as if to reach for Arthur's braces.  Arthur laughed and ducked out of the way, and they went onto a safer (that is to say, non-musical) topic of conversation.

When the curtains fell on the encore, Arthur and Merlin squeezed their way with the masses out the doors and spilled onto the street.

All throughout the performance Arthur had acted very proper, exactly as any other friend would have. Merlin's enjoyment of the sterling performances were marred by random thoughts of whether he was in the midst of a date, and how he should act.

Merlin stood now, shuffling in the cold night air as the crowd milled around them.

"So, thanks a lot for... this," Merlin said. He willed Arthur to say something, anything.

"Oh, my pleasure, glad to have had company," Arthur said. He sounded like he was addressing a corporate client, all formal and courteous. Damn, Merlin didn't want formal and courteous.

It might have been all the music and crooning about love and destiny in the night's tunes. Or it could have been the light catching on Arthur's honey hair and chiselled jaw (Merlin could see the bob of his Adam's apple when he swallowed). But finally, it was Arthur himself that strengthened Merlin’s resolve.

Arthur looked at him, "You're ok to get home? Feeling ok from the alcohol? Not like last week?"

Merlin's gaze snapped to him, half-prepared with a retort, but Arthur didn't seem to be mocking. His eyes were guileless and enquiring, and Merlin's defensiveness went out the window. He remembered how Arthur had taken care of him the last time.

"I'm ok," Merlin said. He decided to go for it. "But I wouldn't mind a drink, like a tea or coffee. You fancy looking for a cafe for a cuppa _?_ " He steeled himself.

"A cuppa sounds spot on," Arthur said. Merlin's insides untwisted immediately.

"We can go to my place? If you don't need anything fancy that we’d have to fly to Italy to have an old man brew over a charcoal fire, I do a decent selection of teas and coffees?" Arthur said. His eyes fixed on a spot behind Merlin.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Merlin said, relief making him lower his guard. His heart gave a merry thumpety thump. “Nah, Italy is over-rated. They’re more likely to pop a capsule into a machine and press a button.”  

"Ah, someone's been waiting, hasn't he?" Arthur was beaming well, a broad smile splitting his face.

"Well _someone_ has been taking a really long time and beating around the bush?" Merlin said, knocking Arthur gently with his elbow.

"That's because someone was trying to do the proper thing," Arthur said. His tone was light, but Merlin had the feeling Arthur really meant what he said.

"What’s so improper about us going out? Oh, you mean because you're taking over the club?" Merlin stumbled when Arthur stopped mid-stride and turned to look at him.

"You know about that? Who – oh, Gwen told you?" Arthur's big blue eyes were filled with uncertainty. "And you're ok with it?"

"Ok with what? I'm sure you'll do a bang-up job with the club, you're like the whizz kid of business aren't you? Oh, _now_ you want to be humble!"

Arthur was shaking his head. "It's not false modesty, I don't know enough about jazz to make a good try of it, and I promised Morgana I would," Arthur said.  He had started walking again and Merlin followed, matching his stride.

"Wait, so is that why you wanted to learn jazz?" Merlin grabbed Arthur's hand. "Trust me, many lesser people – who don’t know an iota about business or about jazz – have run clubs."

Arthur slowed but didn't stop. Merlin realised his hand was still in Arthur's and tried to pull away, but Arthur turned his palm in so that they were walking hand-in-hand.

"Oh," Merlin said, unable to continue any coherent analysis of jazz music or the club business, not with Arthur's hand, warm, big and rough, in his.

Arthur squeezed. "Alright?" He said, his voice low and intimate. The roads they were walking along were quiet, marked by the occasion pedestrian. The only movement was from the leaves swirling by them in eddies. They stopped to cross a roundabout.

Merlin squeezed back. His heart was beating out a pitter patter rhythm and his chest suffused with a warm and fuzzy feeling.

"Yes, that why I thought a couple of tips on jazz would be good, " Arthur said. "Morgana naturally says she knows it all, but she's a terrible teacher, and we always got side tracked into arguments."

"Er, so did we. I mean, you and I. We argue. A lot," said Merlin.

"But you're a proper jazz musician, that counts for something."

"I don't know about proper, but yes, I play for money. Or food. Or drink," Merlin laughed. He remembered some of the gigs he took when he was just starting out.

"Good to know; so does that mean we can do a barter system for your band at the club? Keep you and them fed and well-watered, in return for gigs?"

"Bad idea, sloshed musicians don't play that well. That doesn't apply to me, of course, feel free to ply me with food and wine and champagne," Merlin put his palm on his chest and effected a lofty demeanour.

"You! I've seen how you take to alcohol. It's water for you for the rest of tonight," Arthur let go of Merlin's hand to put an arm around him, and Merlin's heart felt like it would burst out of his chest. He slipped his arm around Arthur's waist and snuggled in closer, cocooned in a warm bubble of him and Arthur.

Arthur's flat turned out to be off a side street near Green Park. The block looked old, but the apartment was large and the living and dining areas were spacious.

Merlin was drawn to the grand piano that took up one corner of the living room. "Steinway," he said, lifting up the fallboard and running his fingers over the keys. "It looks well used." The topboard wasn't as shiny as the showroom models he'd seen, and the edges of the piano bench were peeling.

"It was from my father's house, I took it when I moved out. No one used it except me," Arthur said from the kitchen. Merlin heard the rattle of mugs.

"Were you serious about no alcohol for me? Do I get a hot toddy at least?" Merlin shouted.

He could hear Arthur's laugh loud and clear. "If you like. Need some warming up, do you?"

"Yes," Merlin said." Lots of warming up please." It was hard to flirt when he couldn't see Arthur, but he hoped his voice would carry the innuendo. Maybe some music would help. His head was still buzzing with the groves and tunes from the concert.

Merlin settled in at the piano. Old instruments fascinated him, each nick and bump evidence of some personal history. He wondered if Arthur had played it as a child, had dived under the piano to run after bouncing balls, or been scolded for putting sticky fingers on the pristine keys. On a hunch, he checked inside the piano bench and found a stack of old piano books. A Grade 3 theory book was marked with childish handwriting all all over it, and Arthur's name in careful capital letters on the front. A single song sheet had a spider drawing on it; _Incy Wincy Spider_ , indeed.

"Snooping, are we?" Arthur re-appeared and Merlin dropped the lid in surprise. Arthur laughed and opened it again, "I don't mind- my scores aren't kept here, though."  He looked closely at Merlin, "Did that catch your fingers?"

Merlin felt foolish. He put his fingers behind him, just like a child would have done. "Umm, yeah, just a bit, nothing serious," he said.

"We can't have that now, can we, they’re your livelihood and all," Arthur said.

"Well, they're not insured, if that's what you mean. I'm not in Jamie Cullum or Chick Corea's league."

"Just in case you sue me, I'd better make sure they're fine."

"Are you going to kiss them better?" Merlin said lightly. He waited and tried to remember to breathe.

Arthur sat on the piano bench and pulled Merlin in to stand between his legs. "Do you want me to?" He reached behind Merlin to take hold of his hands. Merlin didn't resist.

One part of Merlin's brain was shouting, "Ask him if he likes you! What if you're wrong?" while the other part was going, "Kiss him, you idiot!" Merlin swallowed and finally voiced the question that had been on his mind all night. "Er, Arthur – is… but, is this a date?"

Arthur looked at him, eyebrows raised. _Buggering fuckety fuck. Fuck me._ Apparently, Merlin was so nervy his brain to mouth filter was shot to bits that he'd apparently said that out loud, based on how Arthur's eyes were wide as saucers.

"I didn't mean that we should fuck. I mean, not literally. I mean… Fuck! Oh there it is again!" Merlin clapped his hands over his mouth to stop the stream of incriminating words.

Arthur tugged Merlin even closer, bracketing Merlin with his knees, and said, "It _is_. This is very definitely a date. Why the hell else would I go through the trouble of getting these tickets?"

"Oh. Ok. Got it," Merlin said. His heart was soaring and his body seemed to be moving on auto-pilot; mouth, legs and all. He said, "Good to get that out of the way, so I can do this." Merlin straddled Arthur, pushing down till Arthur was leaning onto the piano with his elbows. The keys sounded discordantly as Arthur tilted back and took Merlin's weight.

It wasn't the most stable position, but Merlin didn't care. He wasn't normally so forward, but he had been wanting to get his hands on Arthur's magnificent chest since the dollophead had turned up in those braces. Merlin tightened the grip between his legs and gloried in the feel of solid thighs beneath him. He slid down the dip of Arthur's hips and rocked experimentally, making Arthur groan.

Arthur's eyes were deep and dark and his mouth formed a delicious pink O shape. "Go on, then," his expression said. Merlin was breathing hard; his pulse was racing, his cock was half hard, and they hadn't even done anything yet.

Merlin swept his hands up and down Arthur’s chest, following the lines of those awful braces.  Arthur was warm and real, a solid wall of muscle, and his chest was wider than Merlin's combined handspans. It was completely and utterly glorious and Merlin wanted more of him.

Merlin traced the bottom curve of Arthur's pectorals, drawing his fingers to and fro, tracing and re-tracing the line he was creating on the shirt.  “Fucking sexy, so perfect," he said. He dipped under the straps and sought Arthur's nipples, moving in ever-decreasing circles on the fabric till he found the peaks.

Arthur exhaled, breath unsteady, and sat up straighter to push into Merlin's touch; oh, he liked that, did he?

Arthur's hands came up to palm Merlin's bum. Arthur's large, lovely hands were on him and Merlin felt fit to burst with excitement. He wiggled appreciatively and ground down, nudging their cocks closer in a rhythm he couldn't quite control.

"Merlin," Arthur said. His voice was hoarse.

"Hmm?"

"More skin?"

"You or me?" Merlin loosened Arthur's braces and let them drop by the side. He unbuttoned  Arthur's shirt, cursing the small orange buttons and the fancy extra flap concealing them. Merlin’s progress was impeded by the need to slide his hand sideways under Arthur's shirt after each button was loosened, to touch what he couldn't yet see, and to pull his fingers through the fine hair there. Arthur's taut flesh was taunting him from beneath the fabric.

"Much better," Merlin said, concentrating on his task – maximum skin touching, as much as possible.

"I meant you, idiot," Arthur smacked Merlin's arse fondly.

Merlin supposed that was only fair. He scrambled off Arthur, yanked off his trousers and settled back in.

Arthur had lifted his hips and got his own trousers halfway down his thighs; this was halted when Merlin got back on his lap. Arthur didn't seem to mind. "So gorgeous," Arthur said, low and husky.

Merlin agreed. Arthur was a sight to behold, heavy-lidded and debauched, his shirt partially unbuttoned and the colour high on his face.

Arthur, that prat, was also basking in Merlin's appreciation of him. He smirked and said, "Did you want a strip-tease?" He ran his fingers down his sternum and pulled his shirt open, allowing his nipples to show in the diamond-shaped window of flesh that peeked through. Merlin's heart lodged in his throat at the sight.

"Oh my god, Arthur, your nipples," Merlin blurted, too overcome to play coy. "They are the sexiest thing." He couldn't help but lick them immediately, pulling his body back and twisting till he could get a nipple in his mouth. Then licking didn't seem enough and he had to nip hungrily and then bite. Merlin kept brushing his fingers over the other hard nib, rubbing, and just touching.

Arthur made pleased bitten-off sounds, carding through Merlin's hair and caressing the sides of his temple, all the while helplessly sliding further down the piano bench.

When they were both quite precariously balanced on the edge, Arthur shifted himself back up and pulled Merlin up with him. Merlin might have whined, distressed at the loss of lip-on-nipple contact, but was pacified when Arthur's arms circled his waist and moved up to his ribs.

"Stop squirming," Arthur huffed. He was grappling for purchase but his trousers were in a lop-sided mess across his thighs, restricting his movements. Merlin tried to help but when he moved, Arthur moaned and squirmed too, which then made Merlin hot and bothered and wiggly, and it went on this way for a while.

The result was that they slowly slid to the floor in a pile of limbs and rumpled clothes. By some amazing feat of strength and dexterity, Arthur hung onto the bench with his hands in a strange tricep press that managed to cushion their descent. They ended up on the carpeted floor, breathless and laughing.

Arthur was flat on his back; Merlin was still sitting on him. “Move, Merlin,” Arthur said. Merlin hummed in agreement, but nothing happened because Merlin refused to let go of Arthur and kissed him and kissed him till he had to come up for air and Arthur rolled them over.

"Move? Ok," Merlin said, a little dazed. "Piano key imprints on my bum would be no fun."

"Well, I don't want to break the bench," Arthur said, and tugged them both up. “Or get spunk on the piano.”

It turned out that after tense jazz lessons, throwing up on Arthur, and an awkward concert date, it was collapsing onto the floor together half-dressed that finally broke the ice.

Merlin looked his fill while Arthur shrugged his trousers and pants off. Arthur’s cock was already hard, leaving a wet spot on his pants; Merlin licked his lips appreciatively at its girth, imagining how it would feel in him. His own cock twitched at the thought and he pawed at Arthur, asking him to hurry the hell up and get out of the living room.

Even more fantastic was Arthur’s bum, shapely and ample. Merlin watched Arthur’s butt cheeks dimple as he stalked into the bedroom and pulled the duvet aside. He suddenly felt rather self-conscious about his own less ample backside and quickly slid into bed.

In Arthur’s bed, Merlin happily lay back and let Arthur hover over him, fully naked and all predatory and hungry. He let Arthur lick his jaw and press his forehead into Merlin's shoulder, and luxuriated in feeling so loved and wanted; it was like floating on a cloud (well perhaps Arthur's expensive mattress and down pillows helped too).

All the while, Arthur was murmuring endearments and Merlin tried to say how hot and sexy and perfect Arthur was, but mostly Merlin was sighing yes, yes, yes, Arthur, oh… _yes_. His sighs were mostly disappearing into the soft slick of Arthur's kisses.

Merlin stroked Arthur's chest whenever he had enough energy to reach up. Fucking hell, what a chest; the muscles rippled and moved with the strain of Arthur holding himself up. Their legs tangled together and Arthur's stiff dick rubbed wetly at the crease of Merlin's thigh. Merlin had to close his eyes against the assault of pleasure; everywhere Arthur and Arthur everywhere. It was overwhelming. They needed to slow down or Merlin might expire from the… intense _Arthurness_ of the situation.

With some effort, Merlin turned into the bed. "Arthur," he croaked, hoping his intent was clear. He grabbed his own arse and squeezed, then tried to reach back at Arthur. "Arthur," he caught Arthur's eye pleadingly. Merlin was pretty shameless by now.

"Fuck, yes," Arthur said, voice hoarse. "Anytime, anything, with you, hell, yes." He pinned Merlin down into the mattress as he reached and yanked open the bedside drawer.

Face buried in the bed, Merlin heard a click before the cold lube dribbled onto his crack. He jerked involuntarily at the sensation and Arthur fitted his hand to the small of Merlin's back and made shushing sounds.

Merlin tried to settle down. He opened his legs wider and tilted his hips. His attempt to calm down by taking a deep inhale didn't help, because he smelt Arthur in the sheets and the pillows, and it made him want to flail and burrow deeper into the bed or to press up and slide nearer to Arthur or do both, but he couldn't do both at the same time and…. Obviously Merlin's brain was short-circuiting with all the blood rushing to his nether regions.

"Merlin, your pert little bottom, mmm… " Arthur said. Merlin could feel him sitting on the back of his thighs, a sturdy and grounding presence, kneading and caressing his bum. While Merlin couldn't move much, could hardly speak, he clenched and unclenched his butt as a signal to _hurry the hell up!_

All it did was make Arthur fondle and grope even more, leading Merlin to buck up with what strength he could muster and say, "Arthur!"

Arthur swung down and kissed him fiercely on the lips, silencing him. “Wait, Merlin, just… wait,” Arthur growled, the words rumbling against Merlin's back. Merlin heard Arthur moving around – putting the condom on? – before Arthur hesitated and asked,  “Merlin.  Are you ok on your stomach? Do you want to turn around?”

“Yes this is good. _Yes_ ,” Merlin said. He liked this. He liked the feel of Arthur over him, blanketing and covering him, the feel of being wrapped up in the larger-than-life, flesh and blood action figure that was Arthur. And blanket and cover Arthur did; he only let go of his frantic hold on Merlin to slide slowly in, and Merlin felt his eyes roll back at the explosion of pleasure moving deeper inside him.

Merlin anticipated every single start and stop as Arthur eased himself in. Arthur’s cock hadn’t looked that long, but Merlin could feel every inch of it filling him till bursting point. He clutched at the sheets and bit his lip at the stretch, forcing himself to relax and allow Arthur in.

Once Arthur was fully in, he seemed to let go, thrusting with increasing speed and strength. Merlin was breathless with the pace, no longer able to twist around and glimpse Arthur in his determined glory, all blond and gasping and undulating; he jolted forward again and again, until his vision shook and everything rattled. Merlin willed himself not to come, not yet.

In a momentary respite, Arthur eased off, only to lunge forward again and pin Merlin down, sliding his arms under Merlin’s and wrapping him in an embrace. Merlin cried out loudly at the sudden thrust, and gasped, "Yes. So good. More." when Arthur's hips stuttered in momentary uncertainty, then they both returned with a vengeance to losing themselves in the heady rush of mad pounding.

Together they rocked, joined at the hips and flushed together all through the arms. Merlin moaned and whimpered; the discomfort of his dick being pressed into the mattress was maddening but he couldn't be arsed to shift his weight when his bum was being stretched and his prostate sparking delicious things up his entire body. He swung his arm back, wanting to touch those muscular hips he could feel flexing with every thrust, but Arthur caught his arm and kissed down his shoulder.

Arthur must have guessed that Merlin wanted more contact, because he changed their angle and shifted his hold so that his arms were around Merlin’s chest, his hands directly over Merlin’s heart. Merlin scrambled upright, resting his weight on his knees. "Better, love?" Arthur whispered. "I've got you, right here." _Oh god, yes, much better._ Merlin's dick, freed now, bobbed merrily and agreed.

Merlin clasped his hands over Arthur's, resting his head back against Arthur’s shoulders. He turned and attempted a sloppy kiss that landed on Arthur’s cheekbone. His frustration was soothed only when Arthur kissed the sensitive skin under his ear and shuffled them up the bed, pushing Merlin forward so that he could resume thrusting.

Then Merlin was hanging on for dear life as their rhythm became more and more erratic and the slapping sounds grew louder.  He frantically grabbed the headboard with one hand to counter against Arthur’s forceful thrusts, groaning as Arthur pushed deeper inside him.

Arthur ran his hands down Merlin's chest, down the sides of his stomach, and Merlin chased the trail of Arthur’s touch with his hands, ending by desperately fisting himself.

With Arthur all around him and in him, Merlin he was combusting with emotion. He choked out,”Yes. Fuck, yes, yes, _yes._ ” 

When Arthur wasn't making incredibly sexy grunting sounds, he was kissing Merlin's nape and the back of his shoulders, or almost (but not quite) kissing Merlin on the mouth. Merlin's arms were sore from pressing off the bed, but it was the ache from his steel-hard dick he was focused on.

"Come on, come on," Merlin huffed, urging both of them on. "Arthur, oh..." The curl of orgasm was building in him, the familiar tingling sensations spreading from his groin and arse and coursing deeper and stronger within him, until everything collided into a flash of white pleasure.

His dick spurted and his arse clenched as he shuddered and shouted. "Ahhhh..."

Merlin slumped, preventing from flopping down completely by Arthur's still-strong hold. The twitching slowly faded.

Arthur was still thrusting, his breath coming in big puffs by Merlin’s ear.

"Arthur," Merlin panted, clutching Arthur's hands, now pressed into the bed, all veined and strained, "Come on, come in me, I want you to—" Arthur pumped in and out in short, frantic movements, and did exactly that.

Merlin strained to see Arthur's face, dripping in sweat and suddenly slack from the orgasm, flushed and giddy with bliss. Then the wet squelching sounds slowed down, and Arthur slackened and all but collapsed onto Merlin.

The room was still save for their heavy breathing.

Arthur was plastered along almost the whole length of his overheated back, heavy and sweaty, but Merlin couldn't bear to push him off entirely. He pushed till Arthur was on his side, grimacing slightly at the uncoupling and the clicking of joints, then settled next to Arthur. Avoiding the wet patch, Merlin draped lazily across Arthur, head on chest and leg over leg.

Arthur pulled him closer and kissed one cheekbone, then the other, then it was Arthur's turn to lie back and relax. Merlin snuggled up tight, nuzzled into his cheek and dozed. He stayed until the stickiness and the cold could no longer be ignored.

Still, Merlin wasn’t moving away; naked Arthur was enthralling. Merlin traced patterns through Arthur’s chest hair. God, his chest hair – and his chest – was really perfect. Not that he'd say that aloud and risk being called a teenaged girl.

Merlin circled the perky nipples, pebbling in the chill, and traced his ribs – well, where the ribs should be. Arthur wasn't the skinniest guy he'd been with.

Arthur mumbled, " Higher… lower… yes, there… ah." and cracked an bleary eye open. Merlin poked Arthur in the said ribs, "Goldilocks, where are your towels?"

"Dresser-bottom drawer, but don't take too long, I like your hands on me," Arthur said.

“Hmm, like my doing my appegios on your ribs, eh?” Merlin said, strumming his fingers up and down.

Arthur grabbed Merlin's hand on his chest, pulling, but Merlin mock-struggled; Arthur let go in a jolt when Merlin suddenly licked his nipple.

Merlin laughed, "I love them! Pinky!" He licked one nipple, "And perky." He licked the other one.

"Did you just name my nipples?"

"Pet names. I'm very fond of them. Can you tell?" Merlin smirked and licked again.

"Just my nipples? What about me?" Arthur lay back, grinning lazily.

"Oh, I don't mind you. Plus, Pinky and Perky are attached to you," Merlin ruffled Arthur's hair and pushed off in search for towels to clean up. He came back and flipped a damp towel onto Arthur's chest. "Your turn to wipe down. Swirly chest hair is swirly."

"Swirly? Merlin…" Arthur shook his head, amused. "You and your words, where do you get them from?"

"Inspiration, you're obviously my muse. Did I tell you I write copy too?"

"I hardly think there's a market for naming, er, private parts. No, you didn't tell me," Arthur quirked a look at him while cleaning himself up. "You're chattier than at the club."

"I am?"

"You always seem so preoccupied there, all serious and matter-of-fact. When you talk, it's only with your band people."

Merlin thought about it. "Really? Well, I didn't really know you then, I suppose."

"I like it, though. Chatty you, I mean," Arthur said. "It's nice."

"That's good, because according to my mother, I'm a real chatterbox," Merlin bared his teeth, and clattered them together noisily.

Arthur burst out laughing. ”Merlin! I had no idea you were such a quick-witted chap.”

“Are you calling me slow?”

“No, you idiot, I just said you were humourous, didn’t I? I just meant, when we first met, I would end conversations with you sort of scratching my head because I had no idea what we just spoke about. I couldn’t understand half of what you were saying, it left me nonplussed.”

“I lost you with the jazz talk, huh?”

“No, do not doubt my ability to keep up perfectly with your jazz prattle,” Arthur said. “When you get excited, you speak really fast.”

“Er, alright, if you say so. Just keep telling yourself that. Anyway, when do I get a proper date? Tonight's didn't count."

"What? Why not? Those tickets weren't easy to get, Mer-lin."

"It can't be a date if I didn't know it was a date. And I had no idea." Merlin was starting to wonder if he should start getting dressed. He didn’t know how to ask if he should stay the night without sounding needy.

Luckily, Arthur resolved the issue by saying he was as good as talking in his sleep and would Merlin please stop talking and bed down?

Merlin, grateful for the direction, did as he was told for once, even though it was nowhere near his usual bedtime. He normally unwound at home after a gig and slept only in the wee hours of the morning.

Merlin spent the better part of an hour watching Arthur in bed, his chest rising and falling with each breath. His last thought before he fell asleep was about morning persons and night owls.

==

 

Merlin insisted on continuing Arthur’s musical education, which translated into him dragging Arthur along for a wedding he was playing the next day. Merlin avoided calling it a date.

Arthur refused to act as his page-turner until Merlin told him that was the only way he would get to sit next to Merlin at the piano.

Arthur threatened to pretend to be a guest and go on the pull, to which Merlin pointed at the grey-haired crowd and laughed. It was a renewal of vows ceremony and the loving couple’s friends were all well into their years.

Arthur already had sweet little old ladies smiling and clutching at him and wanting to tell him their life stories and saying what a handsome young man he was. Merlin wasn't sure whether to be jealous or amused.

“Since when do jazz musicians have page-turners?” Arthur said, leaning against Merlin and fingering the edge of a page. “I thought you'd use an iPad by now. Also, don't you know the chords by heart?” Yes and yes, but Merlin wasn't going to tell Arthur that.

Merlin feigned innocence. He liked having Arthur close to him and feeling his body heat and his muscular thigh next to his. Their arms brushed every time Arthur reached for the page.

The job was to provide soothing instrumental music to accompany the tea party, so they sat companionably as the music surrounded them. It was a rare, blessed sunny winter's afternoon, and they were inside a heated marquee in a huge garden. There was a low hum of conversation and the clinking of champagne glasses. Merlin was in an excellent mood; Arthur was by his side, he was at a paying gig, and it was really a lovely day.

"Merlin." Arthur said.

"Yes?" Merlin played the turn-around with a flourish and headed straight back to the top of the tune. He didn't even bother looking at the score.

"You know I can tell you're playing this in a completely different key from the score?"

"I am? Oh, my fingers must have slipped," Merlin reached a tonic chord, did a smooth transposition and continued in the appropriate key. He smirked at Arthur.

"Idiot. You just like me serving you."

"I was just showing you the I-IV-V chord progression and how to use the Circle of Fifths to transpose," Merlin shifted his weight and swayed with the chorus. "But fine, I'll release you from the page-turner role. You were terrible at it anyway."

"I was not!"

"Were too. Look, here's another transposition coming up."

"How the hell can I tell what you're playing? You’re playing six different notes at the same time."

"Don't stare at my fingers, newbie; focus on the music and listen for the harmonics."

"You're not even playing the root note, how can I tell where you are?" Arthur was getting agitated now.

Merlin sighed. He should have know. Over-achiever Arthur. He named the chords softly as he played them. "Listen to me, Arthur. Root chord... Augmented fifth… Diminished second… Root…"

When Arthur had fallen quiet and his breathing had evened out, Merlin changed to humming along with the music under his breath. He didn't have a great voice, although he could keep a tune, but he was in far too good a mood to keep things bottled in today.

Merlin felt Arthur staring at him, and lifted a brow. Arthur smiled, shook his head and discreetly put his hand on Merlin's thigh.

"Arthur," said Merlin. "I'm working here!" He was torn between a prickle of panic, and a flush of pleasure. He glanced around and allowed the panic to abate. The body of the upright piano hid them from the public view. Still, he shook his head at Arthur and let the corners of his mouth droop. Arthur made a face, but removed his hand.

"Don't be mad, I couldn't help myself," Arthur said in low tones. "Fuck, Merlin, I love watching you play, loved it in the club and love it now."

Merlin was sure he was flushing properly now. He kept playing, his heart soaring as the song moved higher up the scale.

"You're so beautiful," Arthur nudged his hand between their thighs. "I just want to touch you, just like that, yeah? All fair and lean, and relaxed and swaying, and god, your fingers, they're like magic, Merlin. I'd kiss them if I could… I know, I know, not here." Arthur's fingers burrowed under his thigh and he wiggled his fingers slowly.

"You ridiculous man," Merlin said, with no heat at all, not a bit." Are you trying to get me fired when they find me shooting off on the job thanks to my no-good friend dirty-talking me?"

"You have the best ideas, Merlin," Arthur said. "I'd kiss your fingers, and lick your knuckles. Then I'd put my hand back on your thigh, but it won't stay there, no, no. I'd rub your thighs in long strokes, higher and higher, till you're all worked up, then I'd put my hands on you, right _there,_ on your cock, Merlin, and I'd fondle, and I'd knead and rub."

Arthur's voice was like honey, low and syrupy, and Merlin shifted in his seat and stamped his feet to shake off its seductive effect. Arthur laughed in a low rumble, pleased at the effect he was having on Merlin.

"Ok, ok,” Arthur said. “ I'm not taking the piss though, I tell you now. There's just something about you, Merlin, you don't seem real sometimes, and when you play, god, it's like you're some music sprite." Then Arthur removed his hand from under Merlin's thigh where they'd been burning like a brand, and went back to staring at him.

Once the job was over, Merlin rushed out of that marquee as fast as he could, and they went straight back to Arthur's flat and resumed where they had left off that morning.

====

 

"I tell you this is the one and only time I am going to do this," Arthur said, his lovely red lips in a pout. _Darn, and still he looked gorgeous in a brooding hero sort of way_.

"Come on, i’ll make it worth your while," Merlin said. He kissed Arthur’s pout away and held Arthur’s arm firmly in case he changed his mind and fled from the scene of the Crime Against Music (Arthur's phrase, not his).

"What kind of a name is 'Sing-a-lot'?" Arthur said.

"Umm, the name of this karaoke place? Come on, Arthur, it'll be fun, and it's Leon's birthday."

"And here I thought your man Leon had some taste, clearly I'm wrong." Arthur made a face but allowed himself be led in.

Arthur was indeed very wrong. Leon was ridiculously campy and very free with his words and tunes -hilariously so- when he was let off the leash and wasn't hiding behind a double bass or a cello. His droll face and dry wit made it doubly entertaining.

Morgana, in her infinite wisdom, had flatly refused to come, and Arthur was surrounded by Merlin's gang of merry musicians. Morgana’s friend Gwaine, who seemed to have been adopted by Will and Leon as part of their group, had turned up too and was well into the swing of things, dancing along with the music and apparently having enough choreography for a whole concert. Will could hardly be said to be singing although he had enthusiasm in spades; he was shouting into the mic and pumping his fists into the air.  

Arthur complained he had no idea why musicians would spend their free time making more music, till Merlin pointed out they were musicians precisely because they enjoyed music, but this was the rare time they didn't have to sing or play perfectly. Arthur growled, but didn't say anything all though the Michael Jackson songs (accompanied with atrocious moon-walking and hip-swinging by Gwaine and Will ), soppy Carpenters' tunes (who knew Lance was such a sucker for them?) and classic Queen and Bon Jovi rock anthems (by none other than the birthday boy himself).

There was not a jazz standard in sight. Nothing was standard about that night.

Gwen took pity on Arthur and directed Merlin and him to the seats nearest the door of their private karaoke room (mercifully also furthest from the speakers and the big screen). She then proceeded to delete some of Will’s song choices from the massive waiting-list, Merlin also saw her stowing away the book of song choices while smiling sweetly at Lancelot.

Merlin didn’t really mind karaoke, it was another form of general silliness they all got up to. He wasn’t sure about Arthur, though.

Arthur lasted less than an hour.

When Will hollered at Merlin “ _Take the A Train_ , Merlin! Arthur! A! Get it?” three times in the space of fives minutes, complete with the two-thumbs up, Merlin decided it was best not to wait till Arthur erupted. Drastic measures were called for, and he had promised to make it up to Arthur.

Arthur's jaw was clenched and his face screwed up, looking the very picture of a man in abject suffering. Merlin kissed the side of his face, and Arthur turned towards him at the touch, eyes flinty. "I am not going to actually sing something," he said stiffly.

Merlin shook his head and put his hand on the side of Arthur's neck. The muscles there were all bunched up and he traced the line of the tendon there, pressing his thumb in whenever there was a knot of tension.

"No," Merlin whispered in his ear. "We can do other things." He kissed his way down Arthur's jaw, and then full on the mouth. Arthur's body relaxed and his jaw loosened; he leaned into the touch and slid his arm around Merlin's waist.

"Mmm," Arthur said. Merlin couldn't hear the rest of what he said but it was clear Arthur approved.

They stayed that way for a while, nipping and licking and mouthing. Merlin nibbled on Arthur's top lip, and explored inside that warm lush mouth when Arthur allowed him in. The music blared around them, loud and pulsing, but they were in their own cocoon of bliss.

It had been two weeks. Everything was still so new between them that any touch by Arthur made Merlin hard and wanting.

Touching had happened almost daily. Arthur had taken to coming by Morgana's club every night Merlin played and their mad groping in between sets inside Morgana's office made Merlin so dizzy it was a wonder he was still able to play on beat.

It was also inconvenient when they were out in public, like now. Merlin's breath was hot and heavy, just from the kissing alone, and from the way Arthur was gripping him, pulling them flush together, he wasn't alone.

They finally jerked apart when Merlin needed air. Arthur mouthed "Outside" and they were out in the cold night air in an instant. "Thank you," Merlin said, his heart constricting as he looked at Arthur, so out of place and uncomfortable in the rowdy karaoke joint, but still making an effort and determined to stick it out. The relief on Arthur's face as they stepped out was palpable.

Merlin wanted to say thank you again but settled for steering Arthur into a dark spot between the glowing street lights and snogging him silly.

Maybe it was just him who was silly, Arthur was probably perfectly controlled as always. Merlin pulled back at the thought, but Arthur made a displeased sound, took his face in both his hands and put their lips together again. Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur's solid, warm presence and lost himself in the gentle, wet touch of Arthur's tongue, and the feel of the curves of his waist.

The temptation to press his groin closer was too great for Merlin and he did just that.

Arthur broke off the kiss. "Merlin," he said, casting quick looks around. "We're in public."

"Yeah. Not good?" Merlin thrust more strongly, and Arthur groaned.

"It feels good, but, not in this place?"

"Why not? No one can see us," Merlin didn't move.

"It just… just doesn't feel right," Arthur slid his hands slowly, down from Merlin's face, fingers caressing his cheek, brushing against the curve of his neck, rubbing down his chest, and settling on Merlin's hips. "I wanted more for us? Not here."

"Oh." Merlin allowed Arthur to ease him off. He was confused.

Arthur kissed him full on the lips, fiercely, and said, "I want to, Merlin. Believe me. Call me old fashioned but, we're not thirteen-year-olds, yeah? I have a whole big warm flat and a welcoming bed calling our names."

 _Well, that sounded infinitely better._ "Oh Arthur," Merlin said, unable to resist teasing him. "You are unreal, honestly." Arthur seemed so ridiculously gallant and gentlemanly.

Arthur flushed and determinedly hustled him in the direction of his car.

They spent the whole night making use of Arthur's fantastic bed. At least they did eventually.

The first time they ended up fucking on the sofa with their trousers bunched up around their ankles, Arthur fingered Merlin till he was pleading and they were both on edge. He then brought sweet release with the hot slide of his cock. Merlin came so quickly, all he could do was clutch his cock so the stain was on the carpet instead of the sofa.

The second time, they finally made it to Arthur's bed. They lay facing each other, kissing and looking into each other's eyes till Merlin felt overwhelmed with the intimacy of it all and turned so Arthur was hugging him from behind. They continued kissing, hot and wet, as Arthur pushed slowly into Merlin's hole, still stretched and slick from earlier.

Merlin's world narrowed to the pressure of Arthur's cock, and the feel of stubble on his cheek as Arthur nuzzled him, muttering some nonsense or other. When they came, it was together, shuddering and clenching in ecstasy.

Afterwards, they lay in silence. The mood at Arthur's flat was so different from the riotous chaos earlier in the night, words didn't seem appropriate.

===

 

Merlin should have known it was too good to last – whatever "it" was. He hadn't wanted to even try clarifying or naming things for a while, but barely two days later, Arthur dropped a bombshell on him. It wasn’t the type of bombshell Merlin might have expected.

"What?" Merlin said. "You can't be serious? Are things that bad?"

"It'll just be for a while, Merlin," Arthur said, in the tone one would use for a spooked animal. "Till things get better."

"How long do you want the band to take a break for?" Merlin hated how he sounded.

"I don't know," Arthur huffed and shrugged. "I'm sorry, Merlin, I wouldn't if there was another way."

Merlin looked at his fish and chips. He'd lost his appetite.

"I… We can still keep one person on, and the natural choice is the pianist. So you can keep playing as a solo musician," Arthur caught Merlin's expression. "If you want."

Merlin pushed his plate away.

"Merlin, come on. I'm trying. Morgana and I both are."

"I know," Merlin mumbled.

"I thought… Didn't you say you believed in me? That I could make it work?" Arthur sounded accusing now, on the edge.

"I did say. I do believe. Just… Give me a minute, yeah," Merlin rubbed his forehead.

"It's not the end of the world, they can find other jobs?"

Merlin glared. "Easy for you to say, mister businessman. You've never had to ask for a job a day in your life, have you?"

"That's not true. Merlin, what's wrong with you? Why are you getting so worked up? "

The worst thing was that Merlin didn't know. He knew he should be acting in a professional responsible manner, and for a split second he berated himself for mixing business and pleasure.

Merlin was sure if any other client had delivered similar news to him, he would have accepted it better, even if inside he'd feel similarly gutted. But this wasn't "any other client", it was Arthur. Arthur, whom he'd now made out with several times in the last two weeks, but with whom he still wasn’t sure where he stood.

"I'm…." Merlin stopped. What? Was he going to saying he was sorry? He wasn't sorry for reacting like this, but he really didn’t want to stay in the cafe with Arthur right now. He said, "Arthur, I've got to go. No, please, not now, please?"

"Merlin, don't take it so personally. I didn't think you'd react like this," Arthur's face was etched with concern and confusion and… accusation? "Can't you be more supportive?"

"I'm serious, Arthur, I really don't want to talk, otherwise I might say something I don't mean. Let me get my thoughts sorted out first, yeah?"

Merlin scrambled for his knapsack and scrambled to his feet. He suddenly paused and turned back. Arthur was sitting, head in hands. "Are we… Tonight, do we still come in?" Merlin asked tersely.

Arthur looked at him, big blue eyes clouded, and nodded.

The phrase "I'll see you there" was on the tip of Merlin's tongue, but he bit it down and left without a word.

By night, Merlin was no less troubled, but at least he had calmed down and resolved to be civil to Arthur. He would accept whatever Arthur had to offer him and the band. The thought of continuing the horrid conversation from the morning had made him feel ill, so he’d dragged his feet and come in at the very last minute.

Merlin had spent the afternoon wanting to text Arthur but not knowing what to say.

As he played with his phone, sitting listlessly in his flat, he stared at Arthur's name on the screen, bereft of any other information apart from a phone number. He didn't even have a picture of Arthur to add to his contact list; for that matter, he didn't have a picture of both of them together either. Who knew if he would have a chance to take one? It was a sobering thought.

At the club, Merlin's tenuous calm was challenged when Arthur didn't come to look for him – not before the set, not between the sets and not after their last set.

Merlin was on tenterhooks craning his neck for Arthur, while pretending to the band that it was business as usual.

This was easier said than done when every single one of them asked, "Where's Arthur tonight?" when they saw Merlin at the break. After saying, "Don't know", "busy", "inside", and finally, "somewhere around" he had no energy left to answer Gwen, the last one to ask. Gwen gave him a sympathetic look and a hug. "Don't worry, the two of you will figure it out," she said softly.

Merlin finally glimpsed Arthur midway during the last set, when he made out Arthur's broad shoulders, and then his profile in the crowd. His stomach twisted when Arthur wouldn't meet his gaze and instead walked away out of his line of sight.

On this night, Merlin keenly felt every morose blues song he was playing.

When Merlin finally swallowed his pride and went to look for Arthur, he found him in Morgana's office. He supposed it was now also Arthur's office. Merlin willed himself not to be distracted by memories of the last time he'd been in here, when he and Arthur were kissing and touching and… _Stop it!_

Arthur sat in his office chair, staring at some papers. He looked up when Merlin knocked, and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" He said. His tone was distant and neutral. Merlin could have well been the Fire Safety Bureau inspector.

Merlin came in and said, "Okay."

"Okay? Okay what?" Arthur's voice got even colder.

"Okay with whatever you want us – me – to do. The band will stop and I'll continue as solo pianist for you – for the club. That's what you wanted, right?" Merlin said.

"Well, I wouldn't want to force you into anything, Merlin. Don't feel you have to accept to do me a favour. Feel free to go play somewhere else." Arthur face was set, and he waved a hand diffidently.

"Are you - you don't want me around as well now? You're sacking me?"

"You didn't seem very excited about the prospect when we spoke."

"Fine, I know when I'm not wanted," Merlin was lost in a wave of hurt, twice as strong as it had been in the morning. It spurred him to lash out in anger; he wanted to say the most hurtful things possible. "You only had to say it, don't hide behind pretending to be nice when all along, you wanted me gone. What's the matter, we're not good enough for you? Are you just looking for an excuse to get someone else in?"

"Someone else?" Arthur laughed mirthlessly. "Merlin, are you messing with me? There isn't anyone else, no other band, didn't you hear, things are bad. Can't you understand?"

"You're probably better off with some other place anyway," Arthur said. His voice was bitter and his shoulders hunched. "Somewhere more long-term and with more to offer you." He looked up at Merlin, eyes a liquid pool of blue, so full of emotions.

That was just it, Merlin couldn't understand at all. Before Merlin could reply, Arthur's phone beeped. His face fell even more when he looked at the screen. Sighing heavily, he signaled Merlin to sit down.

Merlin saw Arthur square his shoulders and steel himself to answer.

"Father. Yes, father. No. Yes but…" Arthur made vague acknowledging sounds, while he looked more and more despondent. He said very little, but, to Merlin, the expression on his face was loud and clear.

Merlin couldn't bear to see Arthur in such pain, and turned aside, staring instead at the walls of the office.

He'd been inside before when it was Morgana he was dealing with, but he had never noticed the photos. There was one with Morgana and Arthur, much younger and all toothy grins and childish pride. Then there was very old photograph, a lady at a piano, holding a blonde babe in her arms. Next to that, the first page of an old score was framed and signed; Merlin didn't recognize the signature and wondered if it was someone famous.

Arthur's painful phone call had finally come to an abrupt end. He dropped his phone and slumped in his chair, hand over his face.

Merlin didn't have to ask what the call was about. He walked over and held Arthur's other hand in his. "I'm sorry," he said softly. Arthur didn't move.

Merlin summoned every bit of eloquence he had in him and hoped it was enough. "I'm sorry thing aren't good," Merlin said. "I'm sorry it didn't seemed like I didn't care, because I really do."

Arthur's fingers tightened around his hand. Merlin pressed on, "Yes, I was concerned about myself and the band and how we need to get other gigs. But the thing is, Arthur, our time here isn't just about a job."

Arthur finally opened his eyes and regarded Merlin. His gaze was honest and enquiring, giving Merlin courage to continue speaking openly.

"We like Morgana and we like playing here for both of you. We don't actually have another regular gig elsewhere together as a group, and coming here feels like coming home. We care about the club and want to see it thrive too," Merlin took a breath. He could do this, he could be business-like and speak sense.

"The thing is, you can't have club without music," Merlin said. "I think you can try having a bar, which takes less space, but without the music, the place won't have much personality. The music is like the heart and soul of this place. I know I'm not a big business person like you but hear me out for what it's worth. I've had a year or two on the circuit, hanging in clubs and pubs."

Arthur shifted in his chair and seemed a little more attentive.

"Arthur we can help you. Don't ask us to stop, this is precisely the time you need us," Merlin said.

Arthur was shocked into replying. "I couldn't. How could I expect you – all of you – to do this for less pay, or for free?" He looked genuinely affronted at the idea.

"You should let us decide that. Maybe the nights we don't play elsewhere, some of us can come in and play? Or we can do take a cut of the day’s takings, or something. We don’t mind.”  Merlin squeezed Arthur's hands. “You see how close Gwen is to Morgana, and," he kissed Arthur’s forehead. "I don't exactly hate the other boss here. You know the one? Blonde, distractingly good-looking? Too stubborn to ask for help and too thick to know a good thing when he sees one?"

Arthur was looking at Merlin in wonder. "Do you really think it might work? Conventional strategy is to increase marketing and cut costs, but you're right about needing something that will draw more people here." His face lit up and he seemed a little more hopeful.

"It's so complicated with Morgana and Father both in the fray for this," Arthur sighed heavily. "It's made the whole thing a mine field. It makes all my bigger projects look simple." He seemed to notice Merlin was still holding his hands. "And then there's you."

"Me?" Merlin tried to let go their hands, but Arthur wouldn't let him.

"You. You, Merlin," Arthur drew Merlin in till they were in each other's personal space, Merlin awkwardly standing by Arthur's side.

Arthur turned his face up to look at Merlin properly. "I didn't want to get too involved, I was meant to come and wind things up cleanly. But Morgana begged me to look again, and when I said I didn't even know what the hell jazz was, she dropped you into my lap."

Merlin's eyes flickered to Arthur's lap, so close right there next to him. Arthur caught him looking and smirked. "Mer-lin. Would you be more comfortable sitting down?" He tugged sharply. Merlin, uncoordinated even in the best of times when the air wasn't fought with sexual and other types of tension and he didn't have his wrists firmly clasped, promptly slipped and fell.

Because life wasn’t a rom-com, he landed on the floor instead of Arthur's lap, but it didn't matter because Arthur plucked him up like he weighed nothing at all and deposited him on the said lap.

Merlin might not have objected that much. Or he might have willingly swung his legs over Arthur's thighs, just like he had that first night at Arthur's piano bench. Merlin's heart fluttered at the remembrance. Had it only been a few weeks? He felt like he'd known Arthur forever.

Arthur went on talking, "I was going to ditch those lessons after the first one, but you were so rude and prickly…"

"I was not! I was busy! You always caught me before we went on." Merlin waved his hands around before realizing he might tip over and grabbed onto Arthur. He didn't want to fall on him bum again. He quite liked where his bum currently was.

"You told me to look for you then!"

"Oh. Er, that's right. " Merlin deflated. "But I wasn't rude, I was – brisk."

"… But there was something about you, Merlin,"  Arthur's hands tightened in Merlin's waist. "I had no idea what the hell you were saying or playing half the time. But, once in a while, you sounded really different and special. Eventually. "

"Hey! What are you implying?"

"I'm saying that for all the times I sat there wondering where the melody was, or when the piece was going to end, there would be the occasional flash of brilliance. And, fuck, Merlin, when you play, you're like a different creature."

Merlin blushed. "Go on, tell me how poised and professional I look when I play."

"You idiot," Arthur ruffled Merlin’s hair, keeping a steady arm on his waist. "I love how you look so alive and exhilarated. You're  still a tangle of limbs, but amazingly your hands land on magical places on the piano, and it all fits together and it’s all's good."

Merlin blushed even harder. "How did we end up talking about me?" He said.

"Because between Morgana and you, I didn't have the heart to close things down." Arthur made a wry face. "So much for being some professional hard-nosed businessman."

"It makes you a businessman with a heart, and that heart sees there's something good here." Merlin was losing himself in Arthur's eyes, carding his fingers through Arthur's hair, so shiny and gorgeous. He willed himself back on track, "So what are we going to do about the band thing?"

"Hmm? Do you really want to talk about it now?" Arthur leant back invitingly. He licked his lips and teased Merlin's shirt up to caress the skin underneath.

Merlin thought, _oh sod business talk!_ He leant down and kissed Arthur, tasting whisky and smoke, and smelling Arthur's earthy scent.

Before long, they're kissing more urgently, tongues pushing into each other's mouths and hands grabbing and pulling each other close. Merlin's relief from resolving a whole day of tension spilled over and he was giddy with delight. He had hated being at odds with Arthur; the thought made him clutch harder at Arthur.

Arthur in turn groped Merlin's arse, squeezing and sliding his hands under the curve. Merlin gasped when Arthur traced the crease of his cheeks; even through his trousers, it felt divine. "Come on, Arthur, more," Merlin said, voice broken. Arthur nodded distractedly and kneaded his bum again.

As it transpired, neither of them had the patience to move anywhere else. Merlin refused to get up, so it ended with both their trousers pushed down, their dicks out and held together in Arthur's big beautiful hand, all wet and messy with pre-cum. Merlin loved having Arthur’s hands on him.

Arthur was gazing up at him, fond and intense, and Merlin could feel his heart growing inside him, swelling up with emotion for the unreasonably beautiful man under him, who was writhing and squirming with pleasure for him and was calling his name.

Then Merlin was coming in a sudden, hot rush, his body seizing up in a shudder. He slumped over Arthur, jerking through the aftershocks.

When he came to, he had a startling clear image of him and Arthur together. Of himself,, going to dinners and concerts with Arthur, eating off his plate and arguing with him about music, of them walking back home together, of Arthur watching him at his gigs and searching him out at breaks.

Merlin experienced a pang of longing of so intense it cut through him like physical pain. He felt weak, stomach gone warm and heavy with desire. He wanted all these things and more. He wanted Arthur to look for him and to sling an arm over his shoulder and smile crookedly at him, wanted Arthur to press him down in bed and on creaky piano benches, a solid heavy weight of muscle and bone.

"Merlin? You okay? Don't faint on me now," Arthur said. He pushed them both up and was surprised when Merlin hugged him suddenly.

"Whatever happens," Merlin said, speaking into Arthur's hair. "I'm not leaving you. Don't ask me to."

"What do you mean? I won't ask you to – I won't let you."

"Even if I'm just me?" Merlin was afraid to ask.

"Merlin, don't ever change. I want you to always be you."

Epilogue

Two months later, the club has halved in floor space, doubled its marketing, and hired new bartenders to curb leakage. The place has more customers than it ever did and Arthur has stopped looking so stressed whenever he opens his spreadsheet or when Uther calls.

Morgana is smiling more often, though Merlin knew she'd rather die than admit Arthur was her knight in shining armour. Arthur won't call her out on it; the small things she does for him are enough. Also, as she pointed out, it was thanks to her that Arthur met Merlin.

When Merlin gets annoyed with Arthur being patronising and over-working, he threatens to run away and play on a cruise ship with hoards of gay holiday-makers and sugar daddies. When Arthur gets fed up with Merlin's messes and constant obsessing over perfectly fine chords (not that Arthur would know anything about jazz chords), he sulks and glowers at Merlin from the shadows when the band performs instead sitting right in front and smiling fondly.

However, when Arthur leaves his work early to bring Merlin to an open mic session in that hole-in-the-wall bar that Merlin loves (but Arthur loathes), or when Merlin takes over the mic from Gwen during their performances and sings "Dream a little dream of you" and gazes at Arthur all the way through the song, all is forgiven (at least for a while).

Arthur still thinks jazz is about making things up, and Merlin thinks classical people are staid and boring, but everybody coos over how fluffy and adorable they are as a couple.

Merlin not-secretly plans to write Arthur a song. Arthur openly wants Merlin to move in with him. Merlin thinks it might be worth it just to be able to play that Steinway all the time.

All in all, it's not an unpleasant place to be in. Even if he’s not always sure it’s eternal love and all that jazz, Merlin is happy.

================

 

FIN.


End file.
